


a dream always the same

by sevensided (stonedlennon)



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: 1980s, 1985, Adolescent Sexuality, Angry Teenager Alert, Background Wheeler Family Angst, Coming of Age, Gay Mike Wheeler, Gen, HIV/AIDS Crisis, Historically Accurate, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Period-Typical Attitudes, Period-Typical Homophobia, Requited Unrequited Love, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-23
Updated: 2021-01-03
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:20:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 35
Words: 99,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27145127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stonedlennon/pseuds/sevensided
Summary: Mike learns more about himself in four months than he has in fourteen years and comes to realise that he's fallen in love with his best friend.A four part historically accurate coming of age story set between July and October 1985.
Relationships: Eleven | Jane Hopper/Mike Wheeler, Jonathan Byers/Nancy Wheeler, Maxine "Max" Mayfield/Lucas Sinclair, Will Byers/Mike Wheeler
Comments: 122
Kudos: 227





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, this is my first piece in the Stranger Things fandom! I approached this story from a very simple premise: what happened in the S3 finale between July and October 1985? This fic tries to explain that time jump and, specifically, it focuses on Mike's changing view of his sexuality, especially his feelings towards Will. In my opinion, the S3 finale confirmed that Mike does have feelings for Will. This fic is my interpretation of that process.
> 
> Before we jump in, I have a few notes. First, this work is entirely historically accurate. Any reference (books, television, films, music, culture, and so on) is timely to the July-October period in 1985. I researched everything, from whether takeout was a thing to the minimum age for part-time jobs, so rest assured that I dove deep into the 80s to create this labour of love. This is excepting two things: that in this fic, the Hawkins cinema shows movies on the date or in the same week that they were nationally released; and that I am Australian, not American, so there may be a few linguistic slips.
> 
> Second, I adore the Party. Their dynamic is so important to me. This fic does expand on the themes set out in S3 of growing up and changing, as the Party are getting older. This work is as much about Mike and Will as it is about their friendship, and their friendships with and within the Party.
> 
> Third, this fic does deal with adolescence, budding sexuality, and sexual orientation, all in a casually homophobic time. This fic is necessarily set against the AIDs epidemic. As such, I have worked hard to deal with Mike's developing sexuality in a sensitive way. I haven’t written any underage characters in explicit sexual situations. Still, these characters are teenagers, and when you're trying to figure out who you are and who you like, thinking about sex is usually part of the deal. I hope this issue is subtle enough without glossing over the reality of growing up.
> 
> Finally, **this fic will be updated in parts.** There are four parts altogether, and the work will total around 100k (probably). Also, all basic details (like birthdates, full names, and so on) I double checked against the ST Wiki.
> 
> Please do comment and leave kudos if you like this work! You can find me on Tumblr [right here.](https://sevensided.tumblr.com/)
> 
> I will also shamelessly plug the Spotify mixes I made specifically for this work. [Here is the official mix for the fic,](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5TFVk7xKdyNpN2vmzta58q?si=EXBEo4eFQZi02fFVqfbyVg) and this [is Mike's playlist.](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3dftAcQLv4TXVhxIZy8agw?si=VAJtdMxDShSjxAUpnuijGA)

Part One  
**19 July – 12 August**

* * *

> _HAWKINS MOURNS_
> 
> _Today marks a week since a fatal fire broke out at Starcourt Mall on the Fourth of July, devastating businesses and resulting in the death of two Hawkins locals. Chief of Police James “Jim” Hopper and Hawkins High graduate William “Billy” Hargrove both perished in the blaze, leaving local PD lost without their Sheriff, and Hawkins teenagers without the legacy of a star basketball player. No cause has formally been attributed to the accident, however, in a statement on Wednesday, new Mayor Brandon Powell described the fire as “a freak event”._
> 
> _“This is truly harrowing,” Powell stated. “But from adversity comes strength. Hawkins will come together in the wake of this tragedy, as we always do – as we are known for.” A public memorial service for Chief Hopper will be held midday tomorrow, July 12, at Kerley United Methodist Church. A private funeral for Billy Hargrove will be held this weekend._

> _HUNT FOR MISSING CONTINUES_
> 
> _On July 4, numerous Hawkins residents are alleged to have disappeared, though exact numbers are unclear. Hawkins PD has issued no formal statements as to the mass disappearance, but locals have theories of their own. One local, who wishes to remain anonymous, believes it to be the result of Satanists._
> 
> _“Look at what happened to that Vancouver woman, Gail someone. She was possessed! She did the work of the Devil. Who’s to say it won’t happen here?” Another local commented: “Kids are exposed to all kinds of dangerous stuff these days. It’s everywhere, in games and movies. They’re too young to know what they want, so they’re susceptible to bad influence. We gotta watch our kids so they don’t make any stupid mistakes or get involved in something they don’t understand.”_
> 
> _No answers are forthcoming, but what is clear is that the exodus from Hawkins is hot on the heels of a series of strange events that has occurred over the past few years._
> 
> _The Hawkins Post does not endorse any views published._

> _LOCALS RISE TO CHALLENGE_
> 
> _The loss of Starcourt Mall felt, for many Hawkins locals, to be a loss of culture – not so. Local business folk have risen to the challenge, taking out loans to inject much-needed funds into businesses previously driven to the brink with the opening of the mall earlier this year. Previously, Hawkins residents had to travel to Kerley County to enjoy family activities like the movies or bowling. From July 20, downtown Hawkins will see the reopening of its cinema and the Maple Street pizza parlour._
> 
> _“Honestly, I don’t miss Starcourt,” remarked Donald Melvald, owner and operator of Melvald’s General Store. “It’s good to see familiar faces again. The fire was a kick in the butt of local business. I’m sure I don’t just speak for myself when I say we’re taking this as a challenge. Hawkins did just fine before the mall, and we still can.”_

> _SUMMER HEATS UP_
> 
> _With just over a month and a half left of summer break, Hawkins families are hitting the pool, grilling steaks, and making the most of one of the hottest summers on record. The average daily temperature has hit the mid-80s for the third week in a row, tempting kids and teenagers out into the sunshine. Hawkins Community Pool has reported hit numbers of swimmers, and Bradley’s Big Buy has been cleaned out of tanning oil for the second weekend in a row. Stay outdoors and soak up the rays, folks, because July and August are set to be scorchers!_

* * *

Mike sped down the road.

The breeze that swept along his bare arms and legs was warm; and when his bike zipped out of the cool shade afforded by the trees overhead, the sun beat against his back and the top of his head. His t-shirt stuck between his shoulder blades and the juncture of his groin. It was pretty gross but not entirely uncomfortable – it made Mike think of what it’d be like to travel across Arrakis (and speaking of, he had to return _Chapterhouse_ to Dustin before he instigated an inquisition or something).

Mike adjusted his clammy hands on the handles. The straps of his backpack pulled at his shoulders. The air was hot and spiced by the overheated pine trees. The empty road fell away in both directions. Mike was reminded briefly of that time Billy tried to run him, Dustin, and Lucas over. That sense of vulnerability made him glance behind him, but there was nothing there.

There hadn’t been anything for over two weeks.

The Byers’ house slipped between the trees. Mike, who’d been sailing downhill, started to pedal once he hit the flat. Mrs Byers’ green car wasn’t parked out front, and neither was Jonathan’s, which probably meant they were at work. Glancing behind him once more, Mike crossed the road and turned into the uneven drive, bumping over the tire tracks. The sun glinted off a bike, not dissimilar to Mike’s, which was propped beside the front door. The sight made Mike’s stomach flip.

Although he’d apologised to the rest of the Party, something unsaid still lingered between him and Will. After Starcourt, Mike had planned his apology meticulously, pacing his bedroom and poring over his monologue until it felt, if not perfect, then close enough to it. Much like this afternoon, he’d biked to Will’s house, looked into Will’s eyes, and made himself vulnerable to the only person who ever really understood him. Mike didn’t remember a whole lot about that afternoon. He knew he’d done the whole speech and Will had listened quietly. They must have said something to each other. They must have. But he only remembered Will’s softening expression, his dimpled smile. Will was way too forgiving; he always had been.

Now it was time for phase two of Mike’s plan: rescuing what was left of summer.

He dismounted long before he reached the porch, balancing the bike with one foot on the pedal until he ticked slowly to a stop.

Mike stowed his bike beside Will’s. Before he could think too much about it, he marched up to the doorbell and pressed it. His palms were swamped; Mike wiped them down the front of his shorts.

When the door opened and Will appeared in the gap, Mike’s throat constricted.

“Hey!” His voice was pitched way too high. “Uh, let me try that again. Hi.”

The sun caught Will in white-gold light. Now that they were the same height, Mike was faced with the full force of Will’s dark eyes, which fluttered in the heat.

“Oh, hey,” Will replied. He sounded a little surprised. “What are you doing here?”

Mike steeled himself.

“I’m visiting you. And…” He surreptitiously took a deep breath. “I’ve got an idea.”

Will’s eyes sparked with interest. Opening the door a little further, Mike noticed that Will was wearing a black oversized t-shirt – strange, given the rest of his clothes were always way too small – emblazoned with the word _STYX_ and two golden robots.

“Cool shirt,” Mike offered.

Will glanced down, distracted. “Thanks. Jonathan gave it to me. He thinks no one really understood the whole Kilroy thing. What’s your idea?”

Mike frowned. “What’s Kilroy?”

“It’s like a planet populated by robots. Where’s everyone else?”

A few weeks ago, Mike would not have the answer to that. Actually, he still didn’t really have the answer. Since the whole thing at Starcourt – Hopper and Billy dying, the Russians, the Mind Flayer – the Party tried to make things normal again. Max had reacted badly to Billy’s death – much more than anyone expected, considering how often she complained about his loud music and daytime drinking - so she’d been off grid. El was the only person she seemed to want around. If the two of them had been attached at the hip before the battle, they were inseparable now.

The Party hung out as much as they could, though it was harder now than it had been previously. Since the Starcourt ‘fire’, their parents suddenly realised they should probably keep some kind of tabs on their kids, so even the most innocuous event – going to the new cinema downtown, for instance, or lounging around at Dustin’s hilltop radio – often provoked an interrogation not unlike the one Steve and Robin had withstood by the Russians. Mike had escaped this afternoon because his mom was at the pool with Holly, and his dad was at work.

He was, for all intents and purposes, reading comics in the basement, and not, as was the case, on Will Byers’ doorstep, hoping to get his closest friend back.

“Around,” Mike hedged. When Will’s brows creased and he opened his mouth to object, Mike quickly added: “Don’t worry about them. I actually… just wanted to see you.”

Will’s eyes were unnervingly dark. Had they always been like that?

“Okay,” Will replied slowly, sounding confused. “Uh, come in.”

The Byers’ house was cool as an ice box compared to outside. Mike followed Will indoors and closed the door, eclipsing them both in lukewarm shadow. He tipped his head back and groaned. When he caught Will’s smirk, Mike flushed.

“It’s like Dune out there,” he tried.

“You’re just dramatic,” Will pointed out. When Mike shrugged, Will’s mouth pinched, like he was trying to hold back a smile.

They trailed into the kitchen. The windows were thrown open to coax a breeze. The warm spice smell of pinecones accentuated the slightly dusty smell of the Byers’ house. It always smelled like laundry and stale coffee and the ghost of Mrs Byers’ cigarettes. Mike breathed deep.

He went over to the table and put his backpack next to the salt and pepper shakers. Will busied himself with the freezer, noisily dropping ice cubes into a pair of glasses.

“So, what’s this idea?” Will’s fringe was starting to get long: when he tilted his head to focus, dark hair brushed below his eyebrows.

Mike’s fingers twitched. He gripped the back of a chair.

The idea had come to him a few nights ago. He’d been up way later than he should be. The rest of the house was hushed, humid air swelling in every corner. Mike’s dad had gone to bed early, his skin sticking when he got up from his La-Z-Boy. Mike’s mom had hung around for ages, sipping white wine and putting things away in the kitchen. When she called down the basement stairs to tell him to go to bed, Mike had been far ruder than he intended. He didn’t know what was going on. Since his stupid confession to El at Starcourt he felt so frustrated with himself.

_Ugh, I sound like a seven-year-old._

And that’s when his gaze had landed on their abandoned D&D board. Mike hadn’t touched it since that fateful afternoon storm when he’d said something to Will he could never, in a million years, ever take back.

But he _could_ try and make amends. And so, phase two was born.

“You know your June campaign?” Mike started tentatively.

Will paused in the act of filling a glass with water. From this angle, the sunlight washed him out and obscured his features; it was like staring at a ray of light. It felt like an age, but eventually Will said: “Yeah?”

“Well. Uh. I was thinking that we could… start another one. Together,” Mike added quickly. “You and me. It could be a surprise for the Party. You know, just like old times.” As soon as he said that, he closed his eyes in agony. “Not ‘old-times’. I mean now-times. Like… different times.”

Instead of replying, Will filled up another glass.

Gesturing to himself in frustration, Mike clenched his hands. “Sorry, this is coming out all wrong. I…” He took another deep breath. “I guess I…”

He looked up to find Will watching him. His stomach did another one of those weird flips.

“I miss you,” Mike said in a rush.

The two glasses of water on the counter sweated with condensation. One full drop caught the sun as it slid between Will’s fingers where he loosely held it.

Will’s expression wasn’t hard to read – Mike prided himself on knowing instinctively how Will felt – but right now, Mike didn’t want to look too closely in case he saw the answer he dreaded most.

If Will never wanted to play with him again, he deserved it.

The kitchen clock ticked too loudly. A car passed by on the road outside, bringing with it a drift of music from the radio.

Will blinked once, as if startling himself from a reverie. Mike watched him through his eyelashes.

“I miss you too,” Will said quietly.

Relief swept through him. Mike closed his eyes again and hung his head. When he looked up, he smiled broadly.

“Cool,” Mike said, his words fringed with a grin. “I’m – glad we miss each other.”

Will picked up the glasses and started towards the table, raising an eyebrow in a way that was decidedly a Jonathan move.

“Are you okay?” he asked, sounding like he wanted to laugh. “Did you get heatstroke, or something?”

Mike laughed in surprise. Sinking into a chair, he ran a hand under his sweaty fringe. “Probably,” he agreed. “It’d explain why I sound like a moron.”

“You’re not a moron.” Will smiled and gave him a glass of water, ice cubes clinking. “And I know what you mean, about… things being different.”

Will drew his left leg up so he could rest his chin on his knee. His hair brushed the top of his eyelashes; he shook it away in one distracted flick. He held his own glass with his right hand. A droplet of water slid down his wrist.

Mike took a long, thirsty drink, draining the glass until the ice cubes hit his teeth. “God, I needed that. Thanks.” Making a satisfied sound as he put the glass down, he promptly started trying to fish out an ice cube. Mike glanced up and said: “Things are different, but that doesn’t mean we can’t try and still have a good summer.”

“I guess not.” Will sounded far away.

Mike stopped with his hand still in the glass. He leaned forward until he caught Will’s gaze. “Hey. Are _you_ okay?”

Refocusing on him, Will gave him a small smile. “Yeah,” he said tiredly. “I’m okay. It’s been hard, though. El misses Hopper a lot. She has nightmares.”

El’s name filtered to Mike as if through deep water. He resumed fishing for ice. “Yeah,” he replied reluctantly. “I bet. I mean, we all do. But he was like, her dad.”

“Mom misses him too,” Will continued softly. “She doesn’t say anything, and she tries not to show it, but I can tell.” He paused. “I heard her crying, actually.”

Will was drawing circles in the condensation of his glass. He started to turn one into a flower, though it looked uncomfortably like the yawning mouth of a demodog.

“I haven’t heard my mom cry in I don’t even know how long. I never knew how much she… You don’t think, she and Hopper…?”

Mike was startled. “What? No! I mean…” He thought about it. “We’d know, right? If they were…”

“Dating?” To Mike’s surprise, Will laughed. “I don’t even want to think about that.”

“Me neither.” Mike remembered Hopper’s speech in the car that evening. He shuddered.

They were quiet for a moment. The clock continued to tick above the buzzing fridge. Mike put an ice cube in his mouth and started to crunch it with his molars. He felt a mounting pressure to at least _sound_ concerned, so he asked: “How is El, anyway?”

When Will didn’t say anything, Mike added: “I haven’t heard from her since the funerals.”

Leaning back in his chair, Will curled his free hand around his knee and looked at Mike guardedly. “I thought you broke up?”

God, was why Mike so stupid? Why had he opened his big mouth? “We did. We have. We’re totally broken up. But, I mean, you live together now, so…” He lapsed into an awkward silence.

“She’s fine,” Will replied lightly. “Like I said: nightmares. She hangs out with Max a lot.”

“I noticed.” Lucas had been in Mike’s ear about it since last weekend. _I’m fine with it,_ Lucas said, trying not to sound too pissed off. _I am._ _But do they have to be together_ all _the time?_

“I think they talk,” Will continued. “Like, about Hopper and Billy and stuff. I think they think no one understands what they’re going through.”

Mike twisted his mouth in sympathy. “They’re kind of right. I don’t know anyone who’s died.”

But he did know someone who had almost died.

As if reading Mike’s mind, Will tilted his head and said: “I haven’t felt him, Mike. Not since Starcourt.”

Mike’s eyes skipped over Will’s face: Will’s full mouth, which was slightly downturned; a smattering of freckles from this summer; his dark, dark eyes that swelled the longer Mike looked. Mike abruptly realised he’d been quiet for a little too long.

When Mike next spoke, he couldn’t hide his trepidation. “You’d tell me, right? If you did feel him?”

Will glanced down at Mike’s mouth, so quickly that Mike thought he’d imagined it. “Yes,” he replied, more firmly than he’d sounded in ages, nodding. “I always have.”

“Yeah,” Mike murmured. “You have.”

They watched each other for a moment longer before, as if by unspoken admission, the tension eased. Mike broke into a broad grin and before he could think too much about it, leaned forward to cup his hand around the back of Will's left hand, which was still curled around his knee. Colour flooded Will’s cheeks.

Something convoluted heated his body. “So, want to plan a campaign?”

Will grinned. “ _Absolutely_.”


	2. Chapter 2

If the familiarity of the Byers’ kitchen made Mike relax, it was nothing compared to Will’s room.

As he closed the door behind them, Mike wanted to say something – _It’s been ages since I’ve been here; Hey, is that a new poster? –_ before he was uncomfortably reminded again just _why_ he hadn’t been in Will’s bedroom all summer. He wondered briefly where El’s room was.

He fidgeted with the strap of his backpack and watched Will through lowered eyes. Will moved deftly around the neatly made bed, and when he reached the desk, started sifting through stacks of notebooks to find a new one. The sun was at its apex, keeping the room in warm shadow, but the bright golden light outside gave the pictures tacked up on the walls a hallowed look, like they were little windows into another time. There was a band-aid on the back of Will’s left leg.

“…Maybe it’s a spin-off my campaign, where the heroes survive the dungeon and come back to help the village.” Will’s shoulder blades pointed through his t-shirt and shifted as he moved books aside, head bowed in concentration. Mike heard the smile in his voice.

“Like, the heroes could go through a whole Thomas Covenant thing. They’re on the brink of madness, ready to give up, before they remember what’s important –”

Mike heard himself speak. “Hey, Will?”

Will turned around, eyebrows arched in surprise. He had a notebook in one hand that had _SCIENCE 1B_ printed neatly across the front.

“Yeah?”

Mike fought with himself for a moment. “Nothing. Sorry. You were saying.”

Will lowered the notebook slowly. “You… do want to do the campaign, don’t you?”

“Yes!” Startled by how loud he was, Mike flushed. “Yes, absolutely.”

“Maybe you’ve got heatstroke after all,” Will joked weakly.

Mike knew a lifeline when he saw one. “Maybe.” _Get a grip, Wheeler._ Phase two was a good idea – it would work. After all, when they were kids it wasn’t Dustin or Lucas that Mike first played D&D with.

He took off his backpack and dumped it at the foot of Will’s bed. Unzipping it and pulling out a D&D bestiary, he prompted: “Do you mean like in _The Power that Preserves_?”

“Yeah, exactly!” Will brightened. He sat down on the bed, folding one leg beneath him, and flipped the notebook open, searching for an empty page. “In the beginning of that, when Thomas comes back to Earth, he’s a mess, right? Because he thinks he’s lost Elena. But it’s just her spirit that’s trapped. Maybe half of the Party sacrifices themselves in the dungeons –”

“And the other half survive!” They grinned at each other.

“Do you think that would work?” Mike asked, making himself comfortable opposite Will, the bestiary open between them. “If we split up at the Party at the start of the campaign?”

“If everyone stays in character,” Will said wryly, “then yeah.”

“By everyone, you mean Dustin,” Mike pointed out, smirking. Will gave him a look that said, _Please, do not remind me._

“That was an awesome campaign, though,” Mike added. “Even if Dustin did forget –”

“That Ser Bane had no idea Griffin was trapped in the spider’s cave? And Griffin had a muting spell cast on him?”

Mike wrinkled his nose. “Yeah, that was pretty bad. But we were like, ten.”

Will’s grin broadened. “It was last year.”

“We’d been through a lot!” Mike exclaimed, grinning as Will started to laugh. “It was a stressful time!”

“I never thought I’d hear you defending Dustin for breaking the rules.”

“Yeah, well.” Mike shrugged awkwardly.

Will’s laughter faded. The pencil he held in one hand had a small sticker on it that read _MIKE WHEELER._

“Mike?” Will’s voice was questioning. Mike met Will’s gaze. “Seriously, are you sure everything’s okay?”

Mike hadn’t told Will, but it didn’t take a genius to work out that Mike must have apologised to the Party for being a crap friend all freaking summer. But it was one thing to say sorry (which he had, multiple times, until Lucas and Dustin started goofing around, Mike started yelling, and Max had to intervene) but another to really understand how stupid he’d been. Moments like these – sitting on Will’s bed, safe in his childhood bedroom, them against the world – reminded him of what he’d nearly lost. And for what? _Swapping spit with some girl._ Mike was a good friend. At least, he thought he was, until he’d ignored everyone and nearly lost Will again.

No, El. He’d nearly lost _El._

“Someone’s got to stick up for that doofus,” Mike said gamely. “C’mon, let’s talk more about your Covenant idea. That sounds really cool.”

Will watched him for a moment longer before he smiled. “Yeah,” he replied. “Okay.”


	3. Chapter 3

It was nearly dark by the time they’d finished. Mike and Will were sprawled all over the bed, legs kicking above their heads or hanging over the edge, gabbling over each other, trading the bestiary between them, scribbling ideas in the wrinkled notebook. Will had scrounged up some snacks (a SuperPretzel each, two cans of Squirt) and they’d plotted non-stop through the sound of a car pulling up, someone showering, the microwave dinging in the kitchen. It was only when someone creaked past in the hallway and Jonathan’s record player started up that they resurfaced, vestiges of mountain trolls and cave demons dissipating as Will turned on his bedside table lamp.

Rubbing one eye, Mike twisted around on the bed to peer out the window. The sky outside was a deep purple. His mouth was like a desert.

Exhaling contentedly, Mike flopped back down. “That was a _serious_ session,” he exclaimed to the ceiling. “I can’t remember the last time we got into it like that!”

Will lay down beside him, grinning. “Me neither. That was awesome.”

Jonathan was playing something with a dreamy beat. The sounds from the television were drowned out, although Mike caught the tail-end of an advertisement jingle. If he concentrated, he could hear Mrs Byers saying something; and then, so quiet he might have imagined it, El replying.

“What’s that song?” Mike asked, focusing instead on Jonathan’s music.

“Uh, The Smiths, I think.” Will listened. “Yeah.”

“I like it.” _Fifteen minutes with you, well, I wouldn’t say no. Oh, people said that you were virtually dead, and they were so wrong…_ “It’s sad, though.”

“That’s kind of the coolness marker for Jonathan’s music.”

Mike snorted. “True. I think Nancy just listens to Madonna, like, on repeat.”

“Madonna’s okay,” Will tried. “It reminds me of that aerobics store in the mall. Do you remember that place? With all the pink and the loud music?”

The instructor there was a tanned guy with poofed-up brown hair. He wore bright yellow tights and a swimsuit-looking outfit that left little to the imagination.

“No,” Mike lied.

“Yeah,” Will said. “It was kind of scary.”

Affection warmed Mike’s chest. He shifted up onto one elbow, enough to look down at Will, who was much closer than Mike initially thought. Will’s fringe had fallen apart, making his face seem more open. A pair of marble-dark eyes met his. Mike felt heat rush to his face.

“Scary?” he teased, ignoring how tangled up he felt. “You’ve defeated the Mind Flayer, and some moms in Spandex freak you out?”

“Shut up,” Will mumbled, but he was smiling. “It was… a lot.” When Mike started to grin, Will added: “They don’t wear very much, in case you hadn’t noticed! It’s kind of gross. How can anyone go out in public wearing next to nothing?”

“What about at the pool?”

Will rolled his eyes. “That’s different. I mean, like, wearing nothing at the _mall._ Kids go there.”

“Now you sound like my mom,” Mike said.

“Ugh, I totally do.” Will closed his eyes. “I think I’m just an old man trapped in a teenager’s body.”

Mike felt the same way. He started playing with a loose thread on the bedspread, the back of his knuckles an inch away from Will’s left arm. “I think we all do, in a way. The Party, I mean,” he added. “We’ve done a lot of stuff kids our age couldn’t even dream of.”

“I hope they never do,” Will replied, sounding so honest it made Mike’s heart hurt.

It was so unfair. So goddamn unfair.

Mike slowly moved until the back of his hand touched Will’s skin. Will twitched. In the low lamplight, Mike watched as goose bumps prickled up Will’s arm. _Did I do that?_

Jonathan’s record stopped.

As one, Mike and Will pulled apart. The television was so much louder; it sounded like Mrs Byers and El were watching one of those soaps his mom liked so much. As they laughed at something onscreen, Mike suddenly realised that not only was he late, he was late to _dinner._

Mike groaned and fell back against the bed, covering his face with his hands.

“What’s wrong?” Will asked, sounding strange.

“Mom is going to _kill me._ ” Mike rubbed his face roughly and sat up. He made a face at Will. “She’s given me a curfew ever since the whole thing at the mall. I’m so dead.”

Sitting up, Will reached over and turned his bedside clock around to face them. Mike groaned again.

“So dead!”

“Jonathan can drive you,” Will offered. “He wouldn’t mind.”

With difficulty, Mike got up. It was like dragging himself out of bed on a Saturday morning. Will felt much warmer than he looked; now that Mike knew this for a fact, he felt hot and prickly, as if he’d caught the flu. Will had a light dusting of hair on his forearms. There was a small mole on the underside of his left forearm. How had Mike never noticed before?

Will watched as Mike moved around his bedroom, picking up the bestiary where it’d slipped onto the carpet, finding some pages that Will wanted Mike to flesh out before their next session. As Mike put the backpack onto the bed and started stuffing things into it, the weight of Will’s gaze made him fumble, clumsily zipping up his bag. When there was nothing else to do, Mike looked up.

“Thanks for this afternoon.” Mike bit his lip briefly, then added: “I missed it. This, us. I’m sorry again for… you know.”

Will’s expression softened. “Mike,” he said, getting up off the bed. “You’ve already apologised to me. You don’t have to again.”

“I know, but –”

“Seriously.” Will raised his eyebrows and moved closer to rest one hand on the footboard. When he smiled – properly smiled, not just his polite-Will-Byers smile – a small dimple appeared in the corner of his mouth. “It’s you and me, remember? Crazy together.”

Mike’s laugh took him by surprise. He ducked his head and smiled, looking up at Will through his eyelashes. “Crazy together.”

They smiled at each other for a long moment. Then Will inclined his head to the door. “Come on. If we catch Jonathan maybe your mom won’t kill you after all.”

Mike grimaced. “With how slowly he drives? I doubt it.”

Emerging from Will’s room was like leaving a dark cave. Lights from the kitchen illuminated the hallway, with its shabby carpet and wood panelling. As they started down to say goodbye to Mrs Byers, Jonathan came out of his bedroom at the other end of the hall.

“Oh,” Jonathan said. “Hey, Mike. I didn’t know you guys were home.”

“Our bikes are outside,” Mike pointed out.

Most people would say something about Mike’s sass, but Jonathan just smiled his quiet smile and raised his eyebrows in acknowledgement. “Yeah, guess so. Must’ve missed ‘em. How’re you?” He aimed this at Will, who smiled.

“Good! Hey, do you think you could give Mike a ride? He’s missed curfew.”

“Your mom gave you a curfew?” Jonathan asked in surprise. When Mike nodded glumly, he whistled. “Never thought that’d happen. And yeah, sure. I’m actually heading over there anyway.”

Mike and Will gave him a look. Jonathan flushed.

“It’s, uh. Date night.”

Resisting the urge to make gagging motions – it wasn’t like Mike had much of a leg to stand on when it came to being stupid in love – Mike aimed for a supportive smile but ended up grimacing. “Cool.”

Jonathan laughed. “Alright, I can take a hint. I was going to leave in a few. That okay?”

“Sure,” Mike replied. “Thanks.”

Jonathan sidled past them, leading Mike and Will into the kitchen. As Jonathan moved around, picking up car keys, a wallet, Mike’s gaze was drawn uncomfortably towards the couch, where two figures were silhouetted.

Empty plates were on the coffee table, along with a half-drunk glass of Mrs Byers’ cheap red wine (Mike thought it was cheap because his dad once said that people like the Byers only drank alcohol if it came out of a box; his mom hadn’t liked that comment much). Mrs Byers’ hand was up by her head, a cigarette smoking between her fingers. El’s hair was pulled back with one of those big scrunchie things she and Max were obsessed with. As Will started asking Jonathan about his day, Mrs Byers turned around to look over into the kitchen.

“Mike!” Mrs Byers smiled warmly at him. “Hi, honey. Long time, no see.”

“Yeah, I guess.” El hadn’t turned around; Mike stared at the back of her head. “My mom gave me a curfew.”

“Smart lady,” Mrs Byers remarked, narrowing her eyes wisely. “I would do the same, but, well.” She gestured at Jonathan and Will, who’d stopped talking and had drifted into the living room. Mrs Byers wrinkled her nose at her boys. “Like _these_ two would ever listen.”

“That’s so not true,” Will objected, and Jonathan said, “Mom, c’mon.”

“No, no, it’s alright. I get it.” Mrs Byers held her hands up in surrender. “You don’t listen to your poor old mom. It’s fine.”

El turned her head and said: “I’d listen.”

When Mrs Byers smiled, her brown eyes crinkled. “I know you would, sweetie.”

“She so wouldn’t,” Mike muttered to Will, who stifled a laugh.

Unlike Will – who Mike was pretty sure didn’t have the power to read minds – El probably did. She turned around in her seat to pin Mike with a look. Mike shifted his weight and subconsciously straightened; he felt Will do the same.

El stared at them. Behind her, the cast of _Dynasty_ were embroiled in the drama of the century. A handsome guy was talking to another man with blonde hair; they looked anguished.

Eventually, El said: “Hi.”

Mike cleared his throat awkwardly. “Um, hey.”

She looked between him and Will. “You’re hanging out?”

He felt Will glance at him. “Yes,” Mike replied shortly.

El raised her eyebrows. “No more fighting,” she said, then turned back to the television.

“We’re _not,_ ” Mike replied tetchily. Old guilt simmered to the surface.

“Hey, mom, I’m going to drive Mike home,” Jonathan said, slightly too loud. “That okay?”

Mrs Byers’ eyes widened fractionally. “Of course!” She sounded way too enthusiastic for something that Jonathan had done literally a million times before. “Yes. No problem. Mike, say hi to your mom for me, okay?”

El was absorbed in her show. It was Friday – didn’t El like to watch _Star Trek_ on Friday? Why was she watching _Dynasty_? Did Mrs Byers not _know_?

Will nudged Mike. “You ready to go?”

“What? Oh, yeah.” Mike knew he was still frowning. In the beginning, Hopper had monitored El’s television consumption, but he soon started consulting her like his personal _TV Weekly._ Watching television together was a sacred event. Until, of course, Mike. Then it’d been bumped way down the list of El’s priorities. Good to know that with them broken up, he was once again so easily replaced by freaking _Dynasty._

 _Listen to yourself._ Why was he like this? It was just a dumb TV show.

“Bye Mrs Byers,” Mike said quickly. “Thanks for having me.”

“You’re welcome,” Mrs Byers replied, looking bemused. She turned back to the television.

Will accompanied him and Jonathan out to the car. The night was muggy, enough that the scream of cicadas seemed like something from a horror movie. Mike stashed his bike in the boot as Jonathan started the engine. Before Mike got into the car, he paused and looked back at Will, who was standing on the porch.

The afternoon came flooding back to him. Mike bit his lip.

He settled for: “Tomorrow?”

Will smiled shyly. “Tomorrow’s _Back to the Future_ with the Party. Afterwards?”

When Mike smiled back at Will, it was because of the simplicity of it. Him, Will. No one else.

“You bet,” Mike said, and Will broke into a grin.


	4. Chapter 4

As Mike got out of Jonathan’s car, Nancy came out of the house. When she caught sight of him, her eyebrows disappeared into her frizzy hair.

“Oh, boy,” she remarked, smirking. “You are so dead.”

“Shut up,” Mike snapped. “I lost track of time, okay?”

Nancy made a noise of false sympathy. “Yeah, like that’s going to fly with mom.”

Scowling, Mike slammed the door of Jonathan’s car and stalked past Nancy. When he reached the front door, he turned around and said: “Have fun at _date night._ ”

In the light from the porch, Nancy looked older and wiser with her hair up and her make-up done. She opened the car door and gave him a smug smile. “Have fun alone in the basement,” she retorted, and hopped in.

The force with which Mike closed the door behind him prompted an aggrieved cry from the living room. Mike paused halfway across the foyer. His irritation with El and Nancy dissipated in an instant.

His mom was sitting on the couch with her legs tucked beneath her. A glass of white wine was balanced in one red lacquered hand. His dad and Holly were nowhere to be seen – Mike was obviously much later than he initially thought. The bubble lamp on the small table beside his mom highlighted her frosted hair and incredulous expression.

“Michael Wheeler,” she started.

“Mom, please!” Mike came into the living room, ready to plead his case. “I wasn’t anywhere. I was with Will, at his house. We were planning a campaign.”

His mom pursed her lips and took a sip of wine. “That may be,” she said, “but you know the rules. It’s not safe out there. You have a curfew for a _reason._ ”

“A stupid reason,” Mike muttered.

His mom’s eyebrows resembled Nancy’s. “I’m sorry?”

“I’m _fine,_ ” Mike said instead. “Really. I was at Will’s house all afternoon. We were campaigning. That’s it. Can I go now?”

His mom frowned and opened her mouth, but the _Dynasty_ opening theme started. Mike couldn’t believe it. “You’re watching this too?” he exclaimed.

“It’s a good show,” she replied, eyes glued to the television. “You could watch it with me, if you wanted.”

Mike heard the reproach in her voice. He hadn’t hung out with his mom in what felt like forever. Granted, he was a bit too old to be hanging out with his mom, but… this seemed to be the theme of his day: making up for a summer of absence.

He twisted his mouth, thinking. Then he dropped his bag by the door, kicked off his sneakers, and padded across the shag carpet. As he threw himself onto the couch, grabbing a pillow to hold, his mom shot him a sidelong smile and, with her free hand, started carding her long nails through his hair. Mike tilted his head back, half-concentrating on whatever was happening onscreen.

They watched in companionable silence for an aimless segment. The New Coke advertisements made him think of Lucas when they were hiding out in the supermarket. That was a fortnight ago, but it could have been years.

The show resumed. Two characters were walking down a leafy promenade.

_“I love you,”_ said a man with a Steve Harrington hairstyle. “ _I don’t want to lose you.”_

A woman in a peach suit gazed imploringly: “ _Well, then, start acting like it. Otherwise I’ll be gone!”_

His mom tutted and murmured, “Claudia, read the writing on the wall,” and sipped her wine.

“Does anything ever happen in this show?” Mike complained. The woman in peach tossed her hair and marched away as music swelled.

“Michael,” his mom warned.

The scene changed. Onscreen, two men were playing soccer. As the blonde one with a chiselled jaw went to retrieve the ball, he noticed the peach woman and Steve talking to each other in the distance.

“Are they the same people as before?” Mike asked, voice muffled from where he’d squashed the pillow beneath his chin. His mom shushed him and said, “That’s Claudia and Adam. That jerk,” she added into another sip.

The blonde man gazed at the couple. His companion, the dark-haired man, came onscreen, turning to look over at the peach woman and Adam.

_“Steven,”_ he remarked, “ _you’re not even trying to put her out of your mind. It means we’re going to have to make a go of it.”_

Mike frowned. Make a go of what?

The blonde man sighed and walked back across the lawn, toying with the ball in his minds. “ _Look, my feelings about Claudia are very complicated.”_ He threw the ball away and put his hands in his pockets. “ _My feelings about myself,”_ he resumed, “ _are very complicated.”_

“Who’s this blonde guy?”

“Steven,” his mom hissed. “Now hush!”

“ _It’s not a conflict I can get over in a week or a month. It’s going to take some time.”_

The dark-haired man crossed his arms and looked away. Steven shrugged carelessly. “ _Maybe I’ll never get over it, I don’t know.”_

Mike’s pulse started to pound.

The camera lingered on Steven’s handsome face as he watched the dark-haired man in profile. “ _But if you think that means I don’t love you,”_ he said. “ _You’re wrong. I do.”_

The dark-haired man looked helpless. _“I really wish I could believe you, Steve.”_

“I’m going to bed!” he announced loudly, and immediately untangled himself from the pillow and his mom’s hand.

She watched him, bewildered. “Mike, where are you going? I thought we were watching this together.”

“I don’t want to watch this,” Mike snapped. He picked up the pillows where they’d fallen on the carpet and tossed them back; one of them narrowly missed his mom’s face. She made an irritated sound and held her wine glass out of the way.

As he turned to leave, he caught the tail-end of the scene: Steven, looking steadfastly at his – what? _Boyfriend_?

“ _The world may disapprove about us,_ ” Steven said firmly. _“But I don’t give a damn about the world. Just about us.”_

“Mike!” she tried. He went and snatched his backpack and sneakers up from the ground. “Mike!”

Mike started charging up the stairs, heedless of how loud he was. “Goodnight, mom!” he yelled over his shoulder. “Don’t wait up!”

When he arrived in his bedroom, he closed the door and immediately leaned back against it. His head hit the wood with a dull _thump._ Closing his eyes, images from _Dynasty_ filtered through his mind.

The dark-haired man reminded him of someone. He didn’t want to think who.


	5. Chapter 5

Mike woke to the sound of the vacuum cleaner. Somewhere outside, a neighbour started up a lawnmower. Groaning, Mike pulled the pillow over his head. For several agonising seconds he wondered if he’d be able to go back to sleep – but then a song on the radio downstairs suddenly started playing, and Mike, with another loud groan, reluctantly sat up and threw the covers off.

Still half-asleep, he shuffled to the bathroom, showered, dressed in a polo shirt and shorts, and went thumping down the stairs into the kitchen.

His mom was vacuuming the dining room beyond. Noticing him, she turned it off with her foot, and said, “Well, good morning, Grumpy.”

“Mom, seriously,” Mike complained, fumbling for a box of cereal and a bowl. “I’m not in the mood.”

“You never are,” she observed drily. Holly was sitting at the kitchen table, drawing with Mike’s old crayons. As Mike slumped in a chair and started shovelling cereal into his mouth, his mom pursed her lips.

“Do you have something to say to me?” she asked. “After last night?”

Mike looked at her fuzzily. “No?” he tried.

“Try again.” She gave him a look and readjusted the vacuum cord behind her. “Consider your curfew brought forward a half hour, Mike.” As Mike groaned and buried his head in his hands, his mom said: “And I’m dead serious this time. No more fooling around. That fire was a big deal.” Beside him, Holly started to fuss. The news jingle on the radio started to play. “…And with all those missing people… Mike, would you check on your sister?”

Scowling, Mike dropped his hands and looked over at Holly. She held up a crayon. “It broke,” she explained.

“Just use another one,” Mike said. Holly’s lower lip started to wobble, so he searched through the crayons scattered all over the table and found a red and a gold one. “Here. Colour in that person’s shirt.”

“ _Good morning, Indiana, and happy Saturday! Here’s your news for today…”_

“Like circles?” Holly took the crayons and started again on her drawing, tongue stuck between her teeth.

“Try stripes,” Mike corrected absently. Then: “Mom, you can’t be for real about the curfew. I’m watching _Back to the Future_ tonight with the Party.” When his mom sniffed, he added, sounding desperate: “We didn’t see it before the mall burned down! Mom, I swear.”

“ _Fine,_ ” she said, wheeling the vacuum into the kitchen. Mike cheered. She held up a finger. “ _But_ enough sass. You’ve been far too rude lately. People will think I’ve raised a monster.”

“ _President Reagan today announced a surplus package for…”_

“Totally,” Mike replied cheerily. He downed his orange juice and, because his mom was still watching him with narrowed eyes, even took his glass and bowl over to the sink. For effect, he ran the tap. “Thanks, mom!”

“You’re welcome,” she said irritably, although she was starting to smile. “Just… try not to get into any trouble, okay?”

Mike paused at the kitchen door. “Can’t guarantee that,” he teased, “but then again, this is Hawkins.”

His mom widened her eyes. “That is not even funny, Michael.”

As Mike shot her a grin and made to go up the stairs, the news presenter said: “ _Lastly, a thirteen-year-old boy has been barred from attending school since testing positive for AIDs.”_

Mike froze.

_“Ryan White, an incoming seventh-grader at Western Middle School in Kokomo, suffers an acquired immune deficiency syndrome. AIDs researchers say the disease is primarily transferred through sexual contact among homosexual men, and by intravenous drug users and through blood transfusions.”_

His mom made a disgruntled sound, propped the vacuum against the kitchen counter, and went over to the radio.

_“Ryan suffers from haemophilia, a condition that prevents blood from clotting normally, and it is suspected he acquired AIDs through a tainted blood product –”_

“We don’t need to hear that on a Saturday, do we?” His mom was talking to Holly, who hadn’t looked up from her drawing. Glancing over her shoulder, his mom raised an eyebrow at Mike. “I thought you were in a big hurry.”

“I am!” Mike toned down his voice. “I am. I’m going.”

“See you tonight,” his mom called as he started up the stairs. “And remember your curfew!”


	6. Chapter 6

Mike was the first of the Party to arrive at Dustin’s house. When Dustin’s mom opened the door, she exclaimed in surprise and pulled him into a bear hug. Once released, she said, “Now, Dusty tells me you have a girlfriend!”

Dustin had appeared in the foyer behind her. Mike shot him a venomous look. Dustin smiled weakly.

“I don’t anymore,” Mike muttered. Dustin’s mom made a face and patted his shoulders.

“Oh, honey,” she sighed. “I remember when I was your age. It’s all so wishy-washy. That’s what I keep trying to tell Dusty…”

“Suzie is _different,_ mom,” Dustin said.

“I’m sure, sweetie.” Mrs Henderson sounded as if she doubted Suzie’s existence. When she looked back at Mike, her eyes sparked. “Out with it. What’s her name?”

Dustin was grimacing apologies over her shoulder. Mike gave him another withering look.

“El,” he replied flatly, and Mrs Henderson said: “Elle? Oh, how nice!”

“Mom,” Dustin said loudly. “Mike and I have _very important_ business to attend to.”

Mrs Henderson rolled her eyes. “Always in such a rush! Alright, come in, Mike. Hey, say hi to your mom for me, won’t you?”

“Sure,” Mike said over his shoulder. Dustin grabbed his upper arm and all but frog-marched him to his bedroom.

With the door safely closed behind them, Dustin rounded on Mike. “So, it’s official?” he demanded.

Dustin’s bedroom was stifling compared to the rest of the house. Mike, who’d biked over and felt disgustingly sweaty, went over to wrestle with a window. When it broke free, warm air rushed into the room. Mike exhaled in relief.

“Hello? Earth to Mike? Is it official?”

Mike closed his eyes against the breeze. “Is what official?”

Dustin made an impatient noise. “You and El. You’ve officially, properly, broken up?”

“Yes!” Mike turned around to lean against the windowsill. The gauzy curtains stirred slowly around him, casting him in silhouette against Dustin’s brightly coloured bedroom. “Jesus, why does everyone keep asking me about her?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Dustin replied, blinking in mock innocence. “Maybe because you haven’t surfaced for air since June?”

“Ha-ha,” Mike said sourly, and Dustin raised his hands. “Don’t shoot the messenger. Just because I’m the only one who’ll be honest with you… So, what’s the plan for today?”

Narrowing his eyes, Mike crossed his arms. “What do you mean, you’re the only one who’s honest with me?”

Dustin’s expression turned sympathetic. “God, you really are hopeless.”

“Dustin,” Mike groaned. “Just tell me.”

“One,” Dustin held up a finger. “Lucas is just as whipped as you were, if not more. Although at least he and Max have time for their friends... Two!” He raised his voice over Mike’s objections. “Max may be a member of the Party, but she’s not friends enough with you yet to tell you the truth, which is that you and El were royally tied up until very recently. Three –”

“There’s more?!”

“Yes! Three, you’ve forgotten that El is basically an alien, and you _were_ her first boyfriend.”

Mike tightened his arms and scowled. “You’re missing someone,” he pointed out.

Dustin made a dismissive gesture. “Will is _sui generis_ in this situation.”

“Friends don’t lie,” Mike muttered to his shoes.

“Yeah, well…” There was something in Dustin’s voice that made Mike look up. “Sometimes things are more complicated than that.”

Just as Mike’s brows tightened and he was stuttering a response (“More complicated? What’s more complicated than _not lying_? Dustin!”) Mrs Henderson’s cries of delight sailed down the hallway.

“Members incoming,” Dustin announced. “Mom’s pretty excited to see you all. When I was at camp she didn’t have anyone to force-feed snacks to. This is like Carnevale come early.”

Mike pushed off from the window. “Dustin –”

“Knock knock!” Lucas proceeded into the room grin first, opening the door slowly. “Sinclair’s in the house.”

“Oh, hey,” Dustin said as Mike warned: “Dustin, if you think you can just forget about whatever the hell you just said –”

Lucas traipsed into the room. Dustin turned around and fixed Mike with an uncharacteristically annoyed look. Mike pulled himself up short.

“Mike, seriously,” Dustin started, “you have got to calm down. Deep breaths. I was joking.”

“What’s the joke?” Lucas asked, flopping onto Dustin’s bed.

As Mike irritably said, “Nothing,” Dustin said: “We’re talking about how I’m the brutally honest one out of all of us.”

“What?” Mike exclaimed, rounding on Dustin. “That is so not what you said.”

Dustin made another gesture of surrender. Over on the bed, Lucas whistled lowly.

“Guess I picked the wrong time to drop ‘round,” Lucas observed.

“No, you picked perfectly,” Dustin commented. Ignoring Mike’s thunderous expression, Dustin went over to the bed and made himself comfortable beside Lucas. “Speaking of, what’s the plan for today?”

Lucas replied indistinctly (“I dunno. We could go to the pool.”) and Mike returned to the windowsill, quietly fuming. _Dustin_ being the honest one? Yeah, right. He could be honest. He was honest literally _all_ the time. He was the one who came up with ‘friends don’t lie’, right? Was that the sort of thing a dishonest person would make up?

Far away, the doorbell rang. Mike had one arm crossed around his middle and was chewing the skin on the side of his right thumb, frowning at the carpet, when Max entered the room. After a beat, El trailed in behind her.

“I could hear you guys from outside,” Max complained. Her long red hair was pulled into two braids, and the copper freckles on her skin stood in stark contrast to the lime green top she wore. Max gave Lucas a quick kiss hello.

“We were trying to decide what to do,” Lucas explained. Max shoved him to one side and squashed herself in between him and Dustin on the bed. “Maybe the pool…”

Max shot him a look. Lucas trailed off.

El’s hair was pulled into the same scrunchie as last night. She wore a frenetic looking shirt that looked like it was originally from Max’s California wardrobe. The deep cut on her lower left shin had scabbed over. El lingered in the doorway and met Mike’s gaze. She kept twisting the blue band around on her wrist.

“Hi,” El said quietly.

“Hey,” Mike muttered.

“Okay!”

The room fell silent; everyone looked at Dustin, who was on his feet with his hands on his hips. He looked, in that moment, a little like a miniature version of Steve. He pointed first at Mike, then Eleven.

“You two,” Dustin ordered, “quit being awkward.”

“They _just_ broke up,” Max pointed out snarkily. “ _And_ survived a battle with an interdimensional being made of people and rats. I think they’re allowed to be uncomfortable around other.”

“Sure,” Dustin replied vaguely, keeping his eyes on Mike and El, nodding his head. “Sure. Except we don’t want June to repeat itself, do we?”

Lucas made a face. “But you weren’t even _here_.”

“I heard enough,” Dustin said. “And I witnessed… more than enough.” Mike and El glanced at each other. “Can you two just _try_ and act normal? Please?”

For the first time, Mike registered the undertone in Dustin’s voice. Not for the first time, Mike felt a renewed sense of guilt for ignoring his friends.

_Really? Where’s Dustin right now? See, you don’t know, and you don’t even care._

“You’re right.” Mike stood up straight. He looked from Dustin to El, who was frowning lightly. Mike shrugged. “You’re right. This is stupid.” Taking a deep breath, he turned to El. After a beat, he held out his right hand.

El’s eyes were a similar shade as Will’s. Mike glanced down at his hand.

“Truce?”

An intake of breath from the bed – Max, probably – was quickly stifled. Eleven looked at his hand, then up at Mike.

For a long moment, Mike thought this would become another one of his summer mistakes. Then, she took his hand in her own.

“Truce,” she said firmly.

Mike broke into a broad grin. The others raised a scattered applause. El smiled back.

As they shook once, the door creaked open. Still grinning, Mike turned his head to see Will in the doorway. At once, his stomach did a disconcerting flip. In his peripheral vision, El shot him a sharp look.

“What are we celebrating?” Will asked.

“Renewed friendship,” Dustin proclaimed.

“A quiet life,” Lucas said.

“A patchwork job,” Max muttered.

“Great,” Will said, looking between Mike and El. His eyes touched on their joined hands and flicked away. “I’m glad you sorted it out.”

“Now, can we figure out the important stuff?” Dustin asked to the room at large. “Like what we’re going to do today?”

As Lucas and Max dissolved into bickering with Dustin as referee, El searched Mike’s face then looked over her shoulder at Will. She must have smiled at him because Will smiled in response.

“Truce,” El repeated, turning back to Mike. “I like that. No more fighting.”

“Good,” Mike said awkwardly. “I… do too.”

Nodding slowly, El’s eyes searched his face. Her brows furrowed. “Friends again?”

Will’s presence prickled in his peripheral vision. Mike felt his face heat up (out of what, embarrassment? Nerves?). “Uh, yeah. Just friends.”

A smile flickered across El’s face. She glanced between him and Will once more, then went over to the others. Mike let go of a breath he didn’t know he’d held. When Will appeared by his side, he was suffused with that familiar smell: laundry, pinecones, cigarettes.

“What just happened?” Will asked lowly. There was enough of a joke in his tone that Mike could have turned it into something else if he wanted; gratefulness swelled inside him.

Mike scratched the back of his head and wrinkled his nose. “More apologies, I think.”

Will nudged him so they swayed together for a moment. “Nothing wrong with that,” he said.

The sunlight coming in through Dustin’s bedroom windows touched Will in a warm glow. Colour had risen in his cheeks. His fringe, normally so neat, was slightly wind-swept. Dark eyes held each other.

“No,” Mike said belatedly, “I guess not.”


	7. Chapter 7

They eventually decided on the quarry. None of them had been since last summer. With the opening of Hawkins Community Pool, Mike had almost forgotten that the lake existed just twenty minutes outside of town. After a flurry of organisation – Mrs Henderson ensured they were supplied with lunch and snacks, thermoses of iced lemonade, towels, and (to Dustin’s mortification) swimwear – they piled onto their respective bikes and were on their way. Max and El shared a bike; Mike didn’t think the Byers had a spare bike for El to use, and besides, she and Max seemed to have had practice, considering how they flew past, hollering at them to go faster. Dustin tried to radio Steve, without success (“Where’s he disappeared to, anyway?” Mike asked, and Dustin shrugged and hid his face as he stowed the radio away; Mike got the hint). Apparently, Steve and Robin hadn’t been apart since Starcourt.

“Steve hasn’t said as much,” Dustin commented as they rode four abreast along a sticky pine-strewn road, Max and El having disappeared ahead, “but he’s _definitely_ dating Robin.”

“Are you sure?” Will asked on Mike’s left.

“Without a doubt,” Dustin replied confidently. “It’s the only explanation that makes sense.”

“And not, you know,” Lucas said, “that he’s nineteen and _might_ not want to hang out with a bunch of fourteen-year-olds.”

“Five years isn’t that much of a difference.”

“No, Dustin,” Mike interjected, thinking of Nancy. “It really is.”

“Even so,” Dustin continued, swerving to avoid a pinecone in the middle of the road. “Steve will come back. You don’t crack a top-secret Russian code only to go completely incommunicado.”

“Unless it’s a top-secret Russian code that makes you think you need a break,” Will pointed out.

“He’ll be back.” Dustin's tone brooked no argument. “It’s just a matter of time.”

The sky was a pristine, eye-watering shade of blue without a cloud to be seen. Mike had overhead the radio in Mrs Henderson’s kitchen: it was supposed to hit the mid-eighties again today. If his mom found out he’d forgotten sunblock, she really would kill him.

Very slowly, the quarry came into sight. The pines that lined the road gave way to a dirt parking lot infamous among Hawkins High seniors. Ever since the quarry incident a few years ago, the town council had put barriers up to hopefully avoid anyone driving off the edge. The quarry itself was ringed with yellow rock that yawned majestically in a broad semi-circle around the lake, which eventually snaked South East and met up with the Eno river. The Party entered the parking lot then slipped around the barriers to ride down a small walking trail. This led down to a clearing at the lake’s edge. Surrounded by imposing pines and bathed in blistering sunlight, it was entirely secluded. From the top of the ridge you’d never even know it was there.

Mike bumped into the clearing after Lucas. Max’s bike already lay abandoned beneath one of the wide-spreading pines. There came a scream of laughter from the lake.

Dustin skidded to a stop behind him. “They didn’t waste any time.”

Mike dismounted and rested his bike against a tree trunk. Lucas followed suit.

“Oh shit,” Mike heard Lucas say under his breath.

Frowning, he looked at Lucas, who noticed Mike and slumped his shoulders.

“Are you okay?” Mike asked.

“Yeah.” Lucas sounded strangled. Mike raised his eyebrows. Lucas motioned in exasperation. “I mean, not really! We’re at a lake.”

Mike waited. When Lucas didn’t add anything else, he said: “And?”

“ _So,_ Max will be wearing a _swimsuit.”_ Mike furrowed his brow. Lucas stared at him like he was an alien. “A swimsuit,” he enunciated. “It’s _basically_ underwear.”

“You could… not look?”

“Are you being deliberately stupid? How can I not look? I’m biologically wired _to_ look. I will probably look, I will notice things, and Max will almost certainly think I’m a perv.”

“Right, yeah.” Whenever Mike had made out with El, the idea of her without clothes hadn’t entered his mind. He took his backpack off and frowned. “I guess she will.”

Lucas looked like an abandoned man. “Thanks,” he retorted. “Super helpful, Wheeler.”

“Piece of advice.” Lucas and Mike looked at Dustin, who adjusted his cap and wore the same expression he did whenever he solved a math problem that he thought ought to be harder. “Look in her eyes. Don’t even stray below the equator. That’s just asking for trouble, friend.”

“I suppose you know this from Mormon Suzie,” Lucas replied sarcastically.

Dustin scowled.

Will had parked his bike off to the side. Mike walked over to him, the pine needles crunching underfoot. It smelled like algae and warm wood here; it wasn’t entirely unpleasant, but it also reminded him of that afternoon when he thought, for one brief, sharp, painful moment, that Will had disappeared over the quarry edge and into the flame-blue water forever.

Will was sorting through his backpack, pulling out a towel and a soft paperback book.

“You’re not swimming?” Mike asked.

Startled, Will looked up. He smiled when he saw it was just Mike. “Oh, maybe. I have really bad sunburn, so I might stay on land.”

Mike hadn’t noticed anything different with Will’s pale skin. “Where are you burned?”

Will grimaced. “Uh, my back. It’s pretty bad. I helped Jonathan wash the car last weekend and might have forgotten the sunblock.”

“Shit,” Mike remarked. “Want company?”

Will grinned. “Sure. You don’t want to swim with the others?”

Dustin and Lucas were at the water’s edge in their swimsuits; their t-shirts and shorts were tossed over their backpacks. Far away, in the middle of the lake bobbed two heads: one brown, one orange. Max’s cajoling voice carried across the water. Dustin seemed to be arguing with Lucas, who had splashed up to his knees and splashed back just to deliver a retort. Mike realised he was grinning.

When he turned back, Will quickly ducked his head to resume rescuing his towel.

“Maybe later,” Mike answered, watching how deftly Will’s hands moved. “What are you reading?”

Together, they walked over to the largest pine tree where they laid their towels. Mike kicked off his shoes and reclined, propping himself up by his elbows. Will followed suit but crossed his legs, the book face-down on one knee. They glanced over at the lake, which shimmered so brightly it hurt the eyes. Lucas had at last gone into the water, much to Max and El’s delight; Dustin cheered from the bank.

“It’s fantasy,” Will replied, turning back to look at Mike. “I got it from the library at the start of summer but forgot about it. After you left last night, I remembered it and thought it might be useful in plotting the campaign.”

“Let’s see,” Mike prompted gently, and Will lifted the book up so he could see the cover. It depicted a looming castle keep silhouetted against a full moon.

“It’s called _Watchtower,_ ” Will continued. “Basically, it’s about this prince and a guard captain who survive the massacre of their city. The whole story is about them trying to recruit people to take back their home.”

“That sounds really cool,” Mike said. He shifted to lay on one side, shading his eyes from the filtered sunlight with his free hand. Squinting up at Will, he added: “Is it good?”

For a split second, Mike thought that Will was studying him. But then Will dropped his eyes, and the weird, swooping feeling in Mike’s stomach mellowed.

“Yeah,” Will replied, tracing the silhouette of the castle with one finger, “It is. It’s kind of different than what I expected, though.”

“Like, good different or bad different?”

Shrugging, Will glanced up and smiled. “Just different. But it’s okay. I prefer things that different from everything else.”

“What else happens?”

“I only started it last night,” Will replied wryly.

Mike smiled at him. “You’re the fastest reader out of all of us.”

“Not true,” Will refuted. “Remember when Lucas finished _The_ _Hobbit_ in literally a day?”

“Anyone can finish _The_ _Hobbit_ in a day! Seriously, you’re the fastest. What else happens?”

“Well.” Shifting one leg up, Will rested his chin on one knee. He put the book on the ground between them but continued to trace the castle on the cover, glancing at Mike. “It starts at this castle called Torner Keep. The guard captain, Ryke, is sworn to protect the price, Errel. Ryke is clever, but all he really knows is how to be a soldier. I feel like he wants to be more, but he thinks he has to stay tough to keep the respect of people around him. On the other hand, Errel strives to be true to himself but he hates bloodshed, and their culture values things like fighting, so even though he’s the prince, he doesn’t fit in. I think it’s set up so he’ll have to change something about himself to become the leader he’s supposed to be. I feel like…” Will gazed over the lake for a moment, thinking. “The central point is that everything needs balance. Errel and Ryke need each other because they’re two sides of the same coin – they just can’t see it. I think the story is about them realising how much they care about –” 

He looked down to find Mike watching him, mouth parted.

Will laughed abruptly; he sounded nervous. “What?”

Mike blinked. “Uh, nothing. It’s just… been a while since you’ve told a story, I guess.”

“I told a story with my campaign,” Will pointed out, a smile pinching the corner of his mouth.

“Yeah, you did.” He must have sounded guilty because Will raised his eyebrows.

“You’re messing with me?” Mike guessed. Will made a _that’s right_ face, and Mike grinned lopsidedly. They held each other’s gaze, a warmth swelling between them.

Mike pushed himself into a sitting position and started dusting pine needles off his shirt. “Dustin’s right. I need to relax.”

“Want to read this after me?” Will asked. “We could also work on the campaign later.”

Mike smiled shyly. “Thanks. Yeah, that’d be perfect.”

“Hey, you two!”

As one, they looked towards the lake. Dustin was balanced on Lucas’ shoulders, and El was balanced on Max. El and Dustin waved their hands in the air.

“Get in here!” Dustin yelled. “Or we won’t take you anywhere anymore!”

Will laughed. “I think that’s an order.”

“Yeah, I’m not getting told off by Dustin again today,” Mike said. “Race you?”

Sometimes when Will laughed it had a disbelieving undertone, as if he wasn’t sure you were laughing _with_ or _at_ him. But now, as they leaped to their feet and pulled off their clothes until they were in their swimsuits, Will was laughing so hard he sounded like he could burst.

He shoved Mike as they took off towards the water, spurred on by the others cheering. Slipping on the pebbles, Mike grabbed Will’s upper arms and tried to man-handle him into the water before him. The water was shockingly cold under the burning sun; it knocked the breath from Mike’s lungs.

As Max and El kept yelling, and Dustin and Lucas started an overlapping commentary, Mike and Will continued to wrestle in the shallows. The waves lapped around their calves, their thighs, their waists. Water sluiced into Mike’s eyes and he blinked rapidly, gasping with laughter, scrabbling for purchase on Will’s slick skin.

Mike noticed distantly that Will was different than last year. He’d filled out, grown broader across the shoulders. They all had, but it was especially noticeable on Will, who had always been whip-thin and smaller than the rest of them. Now, he and Mike were tied: nearly the same height, weight, everything. Panting, Mike tried to duck behind Will, but Will slipped out of his grasp, splashed a wave into his face, and kicked off into the water.

“We have a winner!” Max yelled, and El cried: “Go, Will, go!”

“And Byers cuts to the finish line,” Dustin announced, “leaving Wheeler floundering in his wake.”

“I would have won!” Mike spluttered. He wiped his face quickly with a free hand and continued to tread water.

Max laughed. “Better luck next time, Mike.”

Will reached Dustin and high-fived him. Swimming in a tight circle to face Mike some meters away, Will looked more carefree than he had in a very long time. He caught Mike’s eye and gave him a brilliant grin. “Yeah, better luck next time!”

“I’ve decided to concede,” Mike called, kicking off to swim towards them.

Lucas said, “Wow, you are _such_ a magnanimous loser, Wheeler.”

It was only afterwards, when Mike had toppled Dustin from Lucas’ shoulders and started a turf war against Max, El, and Will, that Mike realised that Will’s back wasn’t sunburned at all. And then he realised during the whole afternoon, he hadn’t looked at El in her new swimsuit once.


	8. Chapter 8

It was late afternoon once they left the quarry. They’d lounged around for ages, digging into the lunch Mrs Henderson had packed them, throwing chips at each other, cracking jokes, and laughing. Lucas and Max surprised everyone with a rendition of _The NeverEnding Story,_ which sent Dustin into an impassioned tirade about true love, and healthy relationships, and _how dare they mock Suzie’s beautiful voice._

When they realised that the _Back to the Future_ premiere would start in an hour or so, they gathered their things and started back towards Hawkins, wheeling their bikes along the pine-strewn dirt road, towels slung over shoulders, rivulets streaming from their hair down their necks and arms. Mike was sticky all over and kept finding algae fronds stuck to his clothes.

El walked beside Dustin, Lucas, and Will, all of whom were wheeling their bikes in tandem and talking over one another about what to expect from _Back to the Future._ Of them all, only Dustin had seen part of it when he’d tried to babysit a drugged Steve and Robin at the cinema, and so was authoritatively airing his plot predictions.

Mike was slightly behind them, alternating between watching his front wheel tick over and Will’s profile as it turned towards Dustin. Will was a great listener. He exclaimed at all the right moments and laughed in delight when Dustin re-enacted the DeLorean taking off.

Sniffing, Mike dropped his gaze.

“What’s up yours?” Max asked beside him.

Startled, Mike looked at her then focused on the road ahead. “Nothing,” he replied. “Just thinking.”

“About?” Max prompted. When Mike hesitated, she rolled her expressive pale eyes at him. “Would you get over yourself already, Mike? You’re not the only one with issues, you know.”

_Shit._ Billy. Wrinkling his face, Mike turned to her. “I’m really sorry again about—”

“Don’t.” Max gave him a warning look. “It’s fine.”

“Are you… doing okay?”

“No,” Max replied, affecting nonchalance. She glanced at him and shrugged. “Life is crap and my parents have suddenly decided we should pretend to be a happy family. So, no. Not okay.”

Mike had no idea what to say. “That sucks.”

“Yeah.” Max looked down at her freckled hands as they held her handlebars. “It sucks that it took Billy dying for them to wake up.”

Empathy gathered in his chest. Although he’d never had anyone die before, as he’d admitted to Will last night, Billy _had_ been the only person Max interacted with outside the Party. She didn’t gel with anyone else at school, and Mike hadn’t ever seen her out with her mom or stepdad.

That was the case with most Hawkins kids: their parents simply existed, always out of sight, sitting in living rooms and watching TV and making dinner, simultaneously there yet entirely impermanent.

“Hey.” Something in Mike’s tone made Max look at him, expression unreadable. He frowned sympathetically. “I really am sorry about Billy. You can come over whenever you want. I could teach you how to play D&D?”

Max was quiet for so long that Mike thought she was going to punch him. Then she wheeled her bike into his personal space and bumped their elbows together, just hard enough to make Mike go, “Ow, Max!”

“That’s for being a bleeding heart,” Max remarked. “And for daring to suggest I would even be _remotely_ interested in something like _Dungeons and Dragons._ ”

“It’s an excellent game!” Mike retorted. “I’m doing you a _favour._ ”

Max was starting to laugh. She pulled a grimace and said, “God, _thanks_ , nerd.”

“That’s not even an insult,” Mike replied loftily. “In fact, I’m going to take it as a compliment.”

Echoing Lucas earlier, Max said, “How magnanimous of you,” and grinned at him. Mike grinned back.

They continued to wheel their bikes alongside each other. Lucas and Will were discussing the latest Dune instalment. Dustin was singing to himself to drown out their conversation; he was very loud.

“By the way,” Mike started awkwardly. “Do you, uh. Know how El is going?” When Max raised her eyebrows at him, he added: “I mean, obviously you do, because you spend most of your time together, but I was just wondering, like, as an outside possibility, if you knew how she was –”

“Ask her yourself,” Max interrupted, widening her eyes _duh, Wheeler_ style. “You made that phony truce this morning. The least you could do is ask her properly.”

Mike frowned, confused. “It wasn’t _phony._ I meant it.”

“Yeah, sure,” Max replied, sounding like she didn’t believe him in the slightest.

He made a face. “Is there something you want to say to me, Max?”

“Maybe I do, _Mike,_ ” Max snipped. “Obviously saying ‘truce’ and shaking hands works for you _boys_ , but it’s not that simple in real life. Have you even talked to El since Starcourt? Since _Hopper_?” Her expression was torn between disgust and pity. “I don’t know how you guys function.”

Biting his tongue had never been so difficult. “You’re saying I should talk to her,” Mike interpreted. When Max tilted her head, he added: “Properly talk to her.”

“ _Yes,_ ” Max exclaimed. “It’s not rocket science. She really misses Hopper, Mike. And yeah, you might have broken up, but you’re still friends, right? That’s what friends do.” She leaned over and flicked the side of his head. “They support each other.”

“Ow!” Max was _violent_ for a girl. Glowering, Mike rubbed his temple. “Okay, okay.”

“Fantastic.”

Mike was, at this point, convinced that it was impossible for one person to be so goddamn sarcastic.

They walked together in silence for minute or so. Mike glanced at her. “Just to be clear… El doesn’t want to get back together, does she?”

Max stopped in the middle of the road, raised her eyebrows, and pinned him with a look that immediately made him feel like the stupidest person alive.

“Right, talk to her,” Mike muttered. “Got it.”

Max resumed walking, her bike ticking gently in the hot air. She patted his shoulder as she passed and said: “Patience, Padawan.”


	9. Chapter 9

After dropping their things at Dustin’s house and taking turns to sluice away the smell of the lake, Mike and the Party biked to the downtown Hawkins cinema.

It wasn’t anywhere near as fancy as the one at Starcourt Mall – in fact, until Starcourt, the only other cinema that was remotely cool was the one over in Kerley County. With the closure of Starcourt and the mounting pressure from local parents who had suddenly lost their free babysitting, the older Hawkins theatre had been revitalised.

The red carpet was freshly steam-cleaned, the popcorn machine was a million years old, and it wasn’t physically possible for the dead-eyed teenagers that staffed the place to look any less bored, but it was still the _movies._

The sun was sinking low, cutting the plum sky with streaks of orange. Heat radiated off the pavement. Despite it nearing dinner time, downtown Hawkins was bustling with people. The atmosphere was almost festive, with families piling into cars on their way to neighbourhood cook-outs, or kids Mike’s age roaming in gaggles, heading to the new burger joint or the arcade. Girls tried not to notice the boys watching them, and boys tried to ignore the girls. El was arm-in-arm with Max; they’d been whispering to each other since Dustin’s house. Once, though Mike didn’t know if it was his imagination or not, he thought he saw them glance over at him. Mike was studiously avoiding looking in their direction.

Feeling self-conscious from his earlier conversation with Max – how was he supposed to know to talk to El? Girls were mystery – Mike drifted to Will’s side. The Party were on the pavement outside the cinema. According to inside intel (Dustin had spotted a kid he knew from ping-pong club and quizzed him), people had been queuing for over an hour.

Lucas bounced on his heels. “We better get in,” he complained. “If we don’t, I’m blaming Dustin.”

Dustin turned around, eyes wide. “Ex _cuse_ me,” he said. “Uh, why me? I’m an innocent member of this group – repeat: _group_ – venture.”

“You’re the one who said it was awesome,” Max pointed out.

“Time travelling car,” El reminded him. When they all looked at her, she shrugged. “Very cool.”

“You are correct,” Dustin said pompously. “It _is_ cool. Which is why you all need to trust me. We’re going to get in. Half of Hawkins has seen _Back to the Future._ If anything, we’re way behind schedule, socially.”

For a movie that had been out for a few weeks, the crowd showed no sign of thinning. As Mike gazed aimlessly at the people surrounding them, Will’s voice sounded very close to his left ear: “I’ve been thinking about our campaign.”

Heat immediately prickled Mike’s skin. Reaching up to cup the side of his neck, Mike turned around quickly to look at Will, whose proximity made his pulse thump in that disconcerting, annoying way it had been lately. Mike glanced at Will’s mouth before focusing on his wide, dark eyes.

“What about?”

“The setting,” Will said quietly. “We were going to start where my campaign finished, right?”

Mike nodded. “Right.”

“What if the heroes did go down to the dungeon to sacrifice themselves –”

“So they could save the villagers.”

“Right. But instead of the story being about them, like, coming back from the dead, they’re given a chance to do it again?”

Mike furrowed his brow in thought. “I don’t follow.”

The queue shuffled forward. Will had pitched his voice low enough that the others couldn’t hear, which meant Mike had to duck his head to listen.

Laundry, pinecones, the smell of the lake. Mike’s hands were growing clammy.

“It’s like in the book I was telling you about, _Watchtower._ The story starts with Ryke in the middle of battle, but you can’t help but wonder…”

“How he got there?”

Prompted by the queue, Mike and Will moved forward again, heads still bent towards each other.

Will nodded enthusiastically. “What if my campaign was a – a path. One of many possible paths that the Party could experience, had they chosen to sacrifice themselves. But our campaign could start before that moment.” Excitement flashed in his eyes. “Our campaign could be what happens if they decided to do something else.”

“A predestination paradox,” Mike said.

Will nodded again. “Exactly.”

Mike grinned. “That’s brilliant!”

Will beamed at him. “Thanks! So, you think we should do it?”

“Are you kidding? Yes, definitely! How about –”

“Tomorrow?”

Mike nodded fiercely then shot Will an apologetic look. “We _could_ work on it tonight after the movie, but…”

“Your mom,” Will sympathised. Mike sighed.

“Yeah, my stupid curfew.”

“Well…” Suddenly looking shy, Will said: “What about an all-nighter tomorrow? There’s a lot to work on. We could get a head start?”

Mike and Will had had a thousand sleepovers. More than a thousand: probably _one hundred_ thousand. A strange feeling curled through Mike’s stomach. Where would they sleep? In his room? The basement? Will’s bed at his house was narrow. If they shared, it’d be a tight fit. Or he could sleep on the floor. But would that be weird? If he didn’t sleep in the same bed as Will? They always shared.

A voice in the back of his head that sounded remarkably like Dustin suddenly shouted: _Relax!_

Aware he’d been quiet for slightly too long, Mike abruptly pretended that the surrounding conversations were too loud to hear properly. He grabbed Will’s left shoulder and leaned in until his nose was pressed into Will’s dark hair. Then, before he could think too much about the warmth of Will’s skin beneath his hand, or how his hair felt so much softer than Mike realised, he said: “You bet.”

It was only due to their proximity that when Mike pulled away, he noticed Will visibly swallow.

“Cool,” Will replied lightly. “Tomorrow.”

Mike was suddenly extremely hot. He stood up straight and pulled the neck of his polo shirt out with one finger. “I hope they have air conditioning,” he said, peering over the crowd. “I think I’m about to melt –”

At that moment, the queue surged forward, and they were pushing through the double doors into the foyer. A wash of cool air came down upon them. Lucas made to drop to his knees in thanks; Max rolled her eyes and hauled him up by his upper arm.

It remained crowded inside, but with Dustin in the lead they elbowed their way to the counter. Mike jostled for a spot in the front, Will close behind him. A tall young guy had his back to them as he refilled the popcorn machine.

“Six tickets for _Back to the Future,_ ” Lucas announced. The guy banged the side of the machine and muttered something to himself. Lucas leaned over the counter and raised his voice. “Excuse me. Six tickets for –”

“Yeah, yeah, I heard you the first time.” The guy turned around and, almost instantly, his brown eyes widened.

As one, the Party exclaimed: “Steve?”

“Hey, kids,” Steve said. He traded a look with one of his co-workers, who was staring at them with raised eyebrows. Steve tried on a smile and scratched the back of his head. “What’s, uh. What’s happening?”

“You _work_ here?” Dustin sounded caught between incredulity and outrage. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Adjusting his uniform with his spare hand, Steve coughed and came closer to the counter. “Um, because I don’t have to tell you everything that’s going on in my life?”

“You’ve been totally off-grid,” Dustin pressed. A few customers nearby glanced in their direction. Mike and Will glanced at each other. “I’ve been radioing you, man. Where’ve you been?”

“Working!” Steve laughed nervously and motioned with open palms. “And I’d really like to keep this job this time, so… What can I get you?”

“An explanation!” Dustin said, just as Will said: “Six tickets for _Back to the Future_.”

“And popcorn and Coke,” Max added.

“Do you have ice-cream?” El asked seriously.

“Not just _Coke,_ ” Lucas corrected Max, who made a face and retorted: “I am not having New Coke.”

Lucas gave her a _what are you talking about?_ look. “That’s not your _decision_.”

As Lucas and Max dissolved into bickering (“What do you mean it’s ‘not my decision’?” – “I mean it’s not your decision whether they have old or New Coke.”), Mike propped an elbow on the counter and said to Steve, who was being interrogated by Dustin: “Can we have those tickets or not?”

“Yes!” Steve exclaimed, too loud. He glanced surreptitiously at his co-workers and started punching the keys on his till. “Six tickets for… a really confusing movie.”

After the mild chaos that ensued (“Is that strawberry ice-cream or do you just have chocolate?” – “It’s not a confusing movie, Steve; you were _drugged by Russians_.” – “Would you freaking _keep it down,_ Henderson?”) Mike and the others gathered their snacks and tickets and traipsed into the theatre, the double doors closing noisily behind them.

Fortunately, the previews hadn’t started yet. As Lucas, Max, and El lead the way down the stairs, peering into rows, balancing popcorn buckets and soft-drinks, Mike, Will, and Dustin made up the rear. Dustin was mid-monologue.

“Why didn’t Steve tell me he had a new job?”

“Maybe he forgot,” Mike suggested. “You did say he and Robin had been spending a lot of time together. Maybe in between dating and finding a new job...”

Dustin shook his head. “Not possible. Steve and I are like _that.”_ He tried to cross his fingers to illustrate his point, and nearly upended his popcorn onto a woman in an aisle seat. As she exclaimed, Dustin said, “Sorry, sorry!”

Mike and Will continued down the stairs together.

“Do you really think Steve forgot?” Will murmured.

Glancing behind him at Dustin, Mike twisted his mouth. “I really hope so.”

They piled into one of the only remaining rows with enough empty seats. El went in first, followed by Max, Lucas, Dustin, then Mike and Will. They clamoured to get comfortable, passing drinks across to each other, handing back buckets of popcorn. El was crinkling her bag of M&M’s and eating them one by one, staring expectantly at the blank screen. Max had kicked her feet up on the seat in front of her and Lucas followed suit, though they prompted started knocking knees and teasing each other. Dustin was lost in thought. Mike glanced at him and opened his mouth to say something, but Will nudged him and shook his head when Mike met his eye.

Making a _you’re probably right_ face, Mike settled back in his seat. Wordlessly, Will passed him a Reece’s Pieces, and Mike took a handful of popcorn from Will’s bucket. Their arms bumped over their shared armrest.

Whoever owned the cinema obviously couldn’t afford an air conditioner in the main theatre. With the sheer volume of the crowd – people were still picking their way along rows, whispering apologies, finding free seats – the air was humid and close. The lights started to dim.

Mike glanced over at Will in the semi-darkness. He remembered the last time they were at the movies. Will only told them much later that the evening they watched _Dawn of the Living Dead_ was the first time he’d felt the Mind Flayer for over a year.

So much had changed since then.

Just as Mike thought that, Will shifted his arm until their forearms were flush together.

Mike stared straight ahead as onscreen the previews began to play. It was too hot in the theatre to be touching – sweat prickled under his arms at the mere thought of it, though he wasn’t entirely sure what _it_ was.

The light hair on Will’s forearm brushed against his own. Will’s skin was dry and warm. Mike swallowed past the lump in his throat. Closing his eyes briefly, he tried to listen to what was happening up on the screen. A car crash, someone laughing maniacally, lightning? The Hollywood voiceover boomed: _This summer… prepare yourself._ Over on his left, Lucas whispered, “That looks cool.”

Did Will know they were touching? Maybe it was a mistake. Yeah, an innocent mistake. They were sharing an armrest after all... But Mike was sharing the other armrest with Dustin, and Dustin’s arm wasn’t touching his.

Mike opened his eyes. Michael J. Fox appeared onscreen. Will shifted away to grab a handful of popcorn.

Mingled relief and confusion trickled through him. Mike pretended to scratch his nose. He adjusted his weight in the seat. As Michael J. Fox picked up a telephone, Mike returned his arm to the rest.

A moment later, Will lowered his arm too.

A wave of warmth emanated from where they nearly touched. Mike swallowed again; his mouth had never been so dry. Chewing the inside of his lip, Mike counted a full twenty seconds before he inched his arm even closer until, eventually, agonisingly, the full length of their arms pressed together.

A minute passed. Another. Mike stared blankly at the screen as numbers flashed through his mind.

One hundred and ninety-nine. Two hundred.

Will’s pinkie finger was flush against his.

Two hundred and thirty. Forty.

Michael J. Fox was talking to a girl at school – his girlfriend? His hair looked a little like Steve’s. Or the guy at the aerobics place at Starcourt.

Half of Mike’s brain was hyper-focused on Will’s hand. The other half was drinking in the sight of Michael J. Fox – Marty? Was that right? – as he started some monologue. His white t-shirt strained across broad shoulders; even his arms, which were still a little gangly, like Mike’s, were corded with muscle that made Mike’s pulse skip. When Marty tilted his head and smiled, the angle made him look unnervingly like Will. The same jawline, the wide-eyed look. His tight jeans.

Will’s hand, pressed against his. Will, pressed against him.

Something hot and strange and prickling gathered in Mike’s limbs. He froze in horror. Then he put his drink down on the ground, tore himself away from Will’s side, and scrambled over him into the aisle.

Mike could feel the Party’s curious eyes on his back – could almost hear their whispered questions – but he just concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other as he sped-walked, then ran, up the theatre stairs.

Mike burst into the empty foyer. He looked dizzily around him – there! Mike broke into a run and pushed open the bathroom door. Sneakers slapping on the cool tiles. The muffled sounds from _Back to the Future_. Mike dashed into a stall, locked it, and sank, shaking, onto the closed lid of the toilet.

A tap dripped. He stared at the bottom of the chipped stall door. Mike’s heart continued to pound.

* * *

He was never going to live down the fact he didn’t go back into _Back to the Future._

“Dude!” Lucas exclaimed when they found Mike outside on the curb, sitting with his arms looped around his knees. As Lucas passed by, he playfully clipped the back of Mike’s head. “Where _were_ you? You just missed, like, a hundred minutes of a freaking _amazing_ movie!”

Mike clambered to his feet and dusted off his butt. Dustin and the others gathered around him. The bright lights illuminating the outside of the cinema threw them all in sharp relief. Mike did not look at Will.

“I – I felt sick,” Mike explained. “Food poisoning. Must have been that ancient popcorn machine.”

Lucas frowned. “I feel fine.”

“So do I.” Dustin was suspicious. “Food poisoning? Really?”

Mike glared at him. “ _Yeah._ It happens.”

“You should have gone home,” Will said from somewhere on his right, sounding concerned. “You didn’t have to wait for us.”

“Yeah, Mike,” Max added. She and El were arm-in-arm again, swaying slightly on the spot. “No need to wait up.”

“Maybe I wanted to,” Mike said, annoyed. He turned to Dustin and Lucas. “So, what was it like?”

“Oh my God, amazing,” Lucas enthused, and Dustin said, “Eh, there were a few plot holes.”

Because it would be weird otherwise, Mike made himself look at Will, who blinked at him in surprise. “What did you think?” Mike muttered.

Will searched him for a moment. “Yeah,” he said, nodding. “It was really good.”

The crowd spilled out around them, everyone chatting and laughing. The soaring credits track from inside the theatre pulsed into the humming evening air.

Despite waiting for his friends for well over an hour, Mike suddenly wished he were alone. “Well…” He stooped down and lifted his bike, which he'd propped carelessly against the curb. Mike glanced around at them and smiled awkwardly. “I should go. I have curfew.”

He started wheeling his bike towards the road. Lucas gestured wonderingly with open palms, and Dustin said, “Wait, you’re going home?”

Mike hopped onto his bike and pretended to fix his gears. “Yeah. Like I said, curfew.”

Dustin and Lucas made various noises of confusion. Then Max blurted: “Mike, is everything okay?”

Startled, he looked up at her. The rest of the Party were staring back. Lucas and Dustin were frowning; Lucas’ mouth was half open like he was about to make a comment. Max’s copper hair fell in wild curls around her expression, which was at once confused and concerned. Beside her, El was frowning and staring hard enough at Mike to read his thoughts. He really, really hoped she couldn’t.

Mike’s eyes skittered over them before landing briefly on Will. He was frowning, but there was something uncertain in his dark eyes. Mike had the horrible impression that Will was second guessing himself.

Not that he had anything to second guess. If anyone needed to take a huge freaking time out, it was Mike.

When he spoke, he sounded completely normal: assured, confident, cheerful.

“Totally,” he said. “Food poisoning is just a bitch. See you all tomorrow?”

They nodded asynchronously. Mike gave them all a reassuring smile, then kicked off into the road. He waved at them over his shoulder and called goodnight. The Party responded in kind, although Mike noticed they sounded unconvinced.

Not Will, though. Will didn’t say anything at all.


	10. Chapter 10

Mike was sprawled on the living room carpet reading a comic book. Well, ‘reading’ was a loaded term. He’d been gazing blankly at the same page of _The Uncanny X-Men Vol. 1 #192_ for God knew how long.

He was principally thinking about the cinema last night, and specifically the way Will’s hand felt pressed against his.

Mike didn’t look up when someone thumped down the stairs and across the foyer. There was a waft of hairspray and floral perfume. They backtracked.

“Hey,” Nancy said. “Are you hanging out with the Party today?”

Jerking out his daze, Mike looked up at his sister. She was watching him expectantly, her head tilted to one side to clip on an earring. Her crispy hair was tamed by a bright green hair clasp, her eyes ringed in the same style as their mom’s.

Mike set his jaw and pointedly returned to his comic. “No.”

“Uh, okay.” Nancy finished with her earring and put her hands on her hips. “Well… is Will coming over later?”

Mike muttered something under his breath. Nancy said, “Sorry?” in the same way as their mom.

“I _said,_ maybe.”

“Jeez, alright.” Nancy exhaled hard enough to ruffle her fringe. She walked over to the coat stand for her purse. “You have been in such a bad mood lately. You could try giving everyone a break.”

Mike threw his comic down. “Why does everyone keep _saying_ that to me?” he exclaimed. “I’m _fine._ I’m completely normal!”

“No,” Nancy enunciated, eyebrows rising, “you’re not. Just – calm down. I get that being fourteen sucks and everything, but…”

Mike dropped his head into his hands. “God, _please_ tell me you’re not about to tell me about puberty.”

The smile in Nancy’s voice was self-evident. “Guess there’s no need. I’m just saying, I’ve been there.”

“Yeah, we know.” Mike looked up at her with an unimpressed look. “I guess if I start making out with Steve Harrington every spare second of the day, we’ll know my balls have dropped.”

“Oh my God.” Nancy raised her hands in surrender. “You are disgusting. I’m leaving.”

“Finally,” Mike replied meanly. He picked up his comic again. “ _Bye,_ Nancy.”

The front door slammed shut behind her. Mike listened to the sound of her sandals recede down the driveway. Without the usual background noise – the kitchen radio, Holly babbling, his mom and dad pretending they weren’t _actually_ arguing, just disagreeing – the Wheelers’ house was disconcertingly silent.

Dropping his comic again, Mike rolled over onto his back and stared at the ceiling.

He and Will were supposed to work on their campaign tonight – all night. The thought of seeing Will filled Mike with mild anxiety. He’d never felt apprehensive about being around Will before. On the contrary. Whereas Mike and Lucas had been best friends since forever, and Dustin had been absorbed into the Party effortlessly sometime in fourth grade, whatever Mike had with Will was, by its existence, its very definition and feeling, completely different. The trouble was that, until recently, Mike just figured they were more brothers than friends. That would explain their joy in being alone together, their preference for creating campaigns or writing or drawing together, their mutual appreciation for each other’s presence.

It was Mike that Will remembered last year when wires were springing out of his body and his eyes were wild and glassy. It was Mike that brought Will back when he was possessed by the Mind Flayer. It was _Mike_ that had made Will smile for the first time in a long time.

But this new… thing. This weird, hotly tangled web that tightened his stomach whenever Will was near – that was new. Mike couldn’t remember it before Starcourt. Even last year when Will was lost in the Upside Down and Mike thought he was gone forever… the feeling was different then. It was a warm, secret knowledge that no matter what, they would always have each other. That they would be friends no matter what. More than friends. Better than best friends; brothers.

Now, that brotherly feeling was all screwed up. It was a chaotic black scribble. It was Marty McFly’s stupid slow grin and Will’s hand in the darkness. That blackness scribbled over the fine line that separated Will from the mixed-up content of Mike’s dreams of late, the ones where he woke up covered in sweat, his body flushed with heat, heart racing, brimming with indefinable desire. Those were two things that didn’t belong together.

This wasn’t normal. He needed to fix it.

Mike rolled back over and got to his feet. Picking up the comic and throwing it on his dad’s La-Z-Boy, Mike went into the kitchen. He went over to the phone on the wall by the fridge. When he went to take it from the cradle, he paused.

What if Will answered the phone?

Mike started chewing his bottom lip. He returned the phone and left the kitchen. Flicking on the overhead basement light, Mike thumped down the stairs. The D&D board was still strewn all over the table.

If he moved with deliberation, he had less time to think.

Mike walked over to the handheld radio abandoned on the couch. Snatching it up, Mike adjusted the dial to their frequency, and, ignoring a sharp spike of nerves, pressed the button.

“El?” Mike asked hesitantly. “El, this is Mike. Are you there? Over.”

Static.

“Eleven, this is Mike. Do you read? Over.”

A car passed by outside. Someone’s dog was barking; children were screaming with laughter. It was Sunday and Mike didn’t know where his family was. Where the Party was.

“El?” Mike’s voice cracked. “Eleven? Are you there?”

The goldenrod shag beneath his feet was mussed from years of sneakered feet. Mike stared at the gap beneath the bookcase, which sagged with old manuals, comics, and fantasy books. A lone dice lay abandoned in the dust. Mike lowered the radio.

He walked slowly over to the bookcase. Dropping into a crouch, Mike picked up the dice. It wasn’t the same one Will had thrown two years ago on the night everything changed – that would be impossible. But the familiarity of it in Mike’s hand made his chest tighten.

Tears pricked his eyes.

Mike slumped onto his butt and leaned back against the bookcase. He held the radio in one hand and the dice in the other. Turning it slowly in his fingers, Mike rotated the dice until the number seven was face up.

_The Demogorgon,_ Will had said, turning his large eyes to Mike. _It got me._

Mike dropped the radio with a heavy _thunk._ He drew his knees into his chest and wrapped his arms around them, the dice still tight in his right hand. Mike scrunched his face up, hard as he could, and buried his forehead against his knees. Tears swam against his eyelashes before they started to fall, hot and wet, on the carpet below.

He was so messed up. This was so _fucking_ messed up.


	11. Chapter 11

Mike didn’t know how long he stayed sitting on the floor. He cried until his eyes burned and his nose had long stopped streaming with snot. The sun had slipped from one side of the room to the other, making it the same burning orange as the Tyrell corporation in _Bladerunner._ One of the family cars had pulled up a while ago. It was accompanied by Holly’s footsteps running upstairs, his mom calling to her, then the sound of cupboards opening and closing as she put away groceries.

Disgusted with himself, Mike roughly wiped underneath his nose with the back of his hand. As he made a face and dragged his hand down the front of his shirt, another car pulled up. Somewhere upstairs Holly cried, “Dad!”

His skin was hot and dry, like he had a fever. Mike got wearily to his feet, butt numb, knees and elbows aching from inactivity. Now he’d finished his pity party, the dice and radio were just objects of his childhood, not symbols of something that sounded distant alarm bells. Sighing, Mike went over to the table and put them both down.

Mechanically, he began to tidy the D&D set.

The basement door opened; a rush of cool, air-conditioned air flooded down the stairs.

“Mike?” his mom called. Then: “Oh, there you are. How long have you been down here?”

“Not long,” Mike croaked. He gathered up the Party’s figurines and carefully tipped them into their velvet drawstring pouch.

“Alright,” she replied doubtfully. “Well, dinner will be up in thirty. Is anyone coming by that I don’t know about yet?”

His mom sounded far away. Mike absent-mindedly rubbed beneath one eye and started stacking their character sheets. “No.”

“Michael?” Footsteps down the stairs. The television was playing in the living room. “Honey, is everything okay?”

Mike put the lid on the D&D box and returned it to the shelf behind him. As he did so, he caught sight of a picture tacked up on the wall: the Party, marching in tandem with a castle in the background. Will the Wise in his purple cleric robes, Lucas’ ranger, Dustin’s bard, and his own paladin in shining silver armour. Will always demanded full character reference sheets before every campaign just so he could draw them. The picture on the wall was from a campaign last year. For half an afternoon, Will had interrogated Mike on the specifics of his gear.

_Is the breastplate trimmed?_ Will asked, pencil poised to sketch. _Like, with gold or mithril?_

Mike remembered giving it serious thought. _Maybe dragon scales? From our spring dragon campaign?_

And Will’s eyes had lit up. When he grinned, the room felt brighter. _Great idea, Mike!_

“Mike? Hello?”

Mike started and turned on the spot. His mom was halfway down the stairs, crouching slightly so she didn’t hit her head on the beams. When their eyes met, she frowned. Then, as he stared at her, her expression shifted into one of concern.

“Mike?” she said. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” Mike replied quickly. “Uh, what did you ask me?”

She raised her eyebrows. “Are any of your friends coming for dinner? If so, I need to know. I only bought a dozen hotdogs.”

“No. No one’s coming.”

“Alrighty, then.” His mom half-turned to go back upstairs, then hesitated. “Mike?”

A lump appeared in his throat. “Yeah?”

She opened her mouth and closed it. Shaking her head, she made a _forget it_ face. “It’s nothing. Thirty minutes ‘til dinner, okay?”

As she started up the stairs, a familiar voice echoed in the back of his mind.

_What about an all-nighter tomorrow? There’s a lot to work on. We could get a head start?_

“Wait, mom!”

She turned to look at him, eyebrows knitted. Mike stared at her for a long moment. Was he really going to do this? Something fierce gathered in his chest. Just because he was confused didn’t mean he and Will couldn’t still be friends. If he cancelled tonight, that would be like June all over again, and Mike had spent the last few weeks doing everything he could to make amends. Besides, it was going to be a _really_ cool campaign.

And he really wanted to see Will. Not Lucas, Dustin, or Max – and definitely not El. Mike needed Will.

Mike drew himself up and lifted his chin. “Will’s going to stay over tonight. Party stuff. Is that okay?”

His mom looked surprised, but she smiled all the same. “Of course. I’ll let your dad know.”

“Thanks, mom,” Mike said, sounding more earnest than he had all summer. She glanced at him suspiciously, then continued up the stairs. The door closed behind her.

Mike looked down at his clenched fist. He opened it slowly to find the dice, seven side up.


	12. Chapter 12

After he’d showered and dressed in comfortable clothes – shorts, an oversized NASA t-shirt Dustin gave Mike from his trip to Washington that depicted a rocket taking off with _Actually, it is rocket science_ arcing around it – Mike returned to the basement to radio Will.

Though he felt much better, Mike knew he looked miserable. He’d investigated himself in the mirror: puffy eyes, a wan expression, his ugly hair curling in the humidity. Nancy used to put cucumber slices on her eyes after she cried, but Mike wasn’t a girl. He just had to hope that whatever it was Will saw, he wouldn’t be able to tell _what_ Mike had cried about. Mike didn’t even want to think about it.

Sucking in a breath, Mike picked up the handheld radio and changed the frequency. Almost immediately, a gabble of voices greeted him: the Party, all talking over one another.

“…It is not stupid!”

“It so is!” Dustin insisted, voice crackling. “You already saw it once, and it was crap. _Why_ are you putting yourself through –”

Mike pressed the button. “What are you guys talking about? Over.”

Voices burbled in excitement. Mike winced and held the radio away from his face.

“Mike!”

“Mike, oh my God, a voice of reason.”

“Mike? Where the hell have you been, dude? Over.”

Mike realised he was grinning. “At home reading comics,” he replied. “What are you guys doing? Over.”

“You’ve been reading comics all _day_?” Dustin asked, and Lucas said, “I’m trying to convince Dustin to see _Back to the Future_ again, but he’s being an asshole.”

A mental image of Lucas and Dustin squaring off made Mike laugh. “Like that’s going to happen,” he teased. “Doesn’t it have a lot of plot holes?”

Dustin cried out in thanks as Lucas retorted: “The only plot hole is Dustin’s big –”

“Are we really talking about _Back to the Future_ again?”

Will’s voice made Mike’s stomach swoop. As one, both Dustin and Lucas started explaining themselves to Will, who sounded like he was laughing whenever he got a word in edgeways. Mike closed his eyes briefly. He pressed the button.

“Will? It’s Mike. Over.”

“Hey,” Will replied, the smile evident in his voice. “Are you okay? I didn’t hear from you today. Over.”

“I’m fine,” Mike said quickly. “Listen, can you go on the other channel for a second? Over.”

In the beat that followed, both Lucas and Dustin radioed in (“Hey, no private conversations!” – “So, are you coming to the movies with Max and me or not?” – “I paid once, I’m not paying again.”) but Mike remained silent, listening intently for the tell-tale _click_ of Will’s radio connecting.

Eventually, Will said: “Yeah, definitely. Over.”

Mike quickly changed the frequency, cutting Lucas and Dustin off mid-sentence. He and Will had picked this frequency years ago; they used to use it to talk late at night, laying on their respective beds, staring at the ceiling, dissecting a book they’d read or sharing ideas for short stories. It was during those many nights that Will told Mike about his dad, the nightmares he suffered since the Mind Flayer, his fears for the future. In return, Mike had complained about his so-called picture-perfect family, his irritation with school and their teachers, and other, secret things, like whether he’d ever do anything interesting with his life, or if his parents even liked each other anymore. It was those nights that strengthened the trust they had in each other. And somewhere along the line, it proved to Mike that no one understood him like Will did.

Mike tentatively pressed the call button. “Hey, Will, are you here? Over.”

Another beat. Then: “I’m here. Over.”

Relief flooded through him. “Hi! Uh, how are you?”

“Fine, I guess,” Will replied. “Is everything okay? Were you really reading comics all day?”

“Sort of,” Mike said. “What have you been up to?”

“I went to Dustin’s this morning, then I came home. We were going to visit you, but I figured you wanted to be alone.”

Mike’s heart thumped. “Why would you think that?”

“You got food poisoning last night,” Will reminded him. Mike mimed smacking his forehead. “Oh, shit! Yeah, I did. Totally forgot.”

“You forgot you caught food poisoning?”

Mike decided to ignore the undertone in Will’s voice. “Guess I did,” he replied breezily. “So, uh, I was wondering. Do you still want to come over tonight? For campaign planning? My mom’s making hotdogs if you wanted to stay for dinner too.” He frowned to himself. “At least, I think she’s making hotdogs. I wasn’t paying attention.”

“That sounds great!” Will replied. Mike grinned. “Yeah, for sure. I didn’t know you still wanted to meet up.”

“I’m sorry for the radio silence,” Mike said, looking down at his socks. “I should have talked to you sooner.”

“No, it’s okay. Really.” Will thought for a moment. “I think my mom was making dinner for me and Jonathan tonight. She’s been working a lot. I think she feels guilty… Jonathan could drop me at yours later. Is seven okay?”

“Definitely!” Mike grimaced at his enthusiasm. “I mean: yes, totally. Seven it is.”

“Cool,” Will said warmly. “I’ll bring all my stuff. See you soon, Mike.”

Will had said his name a million times. But for whatever reason, it was this time that made Mike’s pulse skip, and his face heat up.

“Yeah,” he stuttered, “see you,” and collapsed the antenna. Mike exhaled heavily. Then he glanced around the messy basement.

“Shit.”

* * *

His mom had been imploring him to tidy the basement for months. She was certainly surprised when Mike appeared for dinner, scarfed down some food, and immediately made to disappear again.

“Just where do you think you’re going?” One hand rested on the stem of her wine glass; the other was on the back of Holly’s chair. Holly’s hotdog was cut into small pieces and she was stabbing them intently with a fork, brows furrowed in concentration.

Mike skipped between her and his dad, who was tuned out and steadily chewing a mouthful of potato salad. His dad may as well be on another planet for all the interest he showed his family. Mike looked back to his mom and motioned impatiently.

“Will’s coming over,” he reminded her, raising his eyebrows. “I have to get everything ready.”

“I understand that,” she enunciated. “I’m wondering why you’re running off without excusing yourself first.”

Tempering himself, Mike walked back to the table, picked up his plate, and said: “Can I be excused?”

“You can.” She sighed and sipped her wine. Mike hurried into the kitchen and dumped his plate in the sink. The television was still playing in the living room. The news jingle started to play. As he returned to the table and made to slip into the hall, the distant voice of the newscaster drifted in between the quiet clink of cutlery and sound of chewing.

“ _Hollywood heartthrob Rock Hudson today announced he has AIDs. The_ Dynasty _star appeared for a press conference this morning, stating that he had been unwell for months and was stepping away from all major commitments.”_

“Oh, my goodness,” his mom murmured from somewhere on Mike’s left. “That’s awful.”

His dad must have tuned in finally, because he grunted: “What is, honey?”

“Rock Hudson,” she explained, as the newscaster continued in the background (“ _This surprise announcement comes just before the slated season six premiere of_ Dynasty _in September_. _Hudson was reportedly hospitalised in Paris last month after a collapse. The star, who is unmarried…”_ ). Mike’s dad, with energy usually reserved for the baseball scores, said: “Rock Hudson has _AIDs_? I didn’t think he was a f—”

“ _Ted._ ” Mike imagined the wide-eyed look she was shooting his dad. “Please. Not at the table.”

Mike tore his eyes from the carpet and forced himself to walk into the hall. He passed the living room (“ _AIDs is transferred through sexual contact among homosexuals, through blood products, and intravenous drug users…”_ ) and disappeared into the basement, closing the door firmly behind him.

He turned on the overhead light, which flooded the room in a yellow glow. The sky outside was dark and bruised, as if a storm were on the horizon. Mike put the news out of his mind and focused on tiding up. He wasn’t particularly neat – neither he or Will were – but it was only six thirty, and Mike had time to burn before Will arrived. For some reason, it felt like the right thing to do. Like this was a fresh start.

Mike opened the basement windows to let in the warm evening air. He turned on the lamps scattered around the room and started moving piles of crap from one surface to another, stuffing clothes into drawers and stacking comics until they weren’t strewn over the carpet in a post-Party languor. Mike found the Party’s box of cassette tapes – all instrumental and some New Age stuff Jonathan donated – that they played during their campaigns. He sat cross-legged for a moment, sifting through them until he found a new white cassette with _DREAM SEQUENCE BY TANGERINE DREAM_ frenetically printed across a stylised galaxy. Mike put the box down and found their giant radio-deck – an old model gifted to them by Bob, who was the only adult Mike had ever known who had been excited about D&D – and put the cassette in. He punched the play button.

As bubbling, space-aged music slowly filled the room, Mike continued to ready himself. He found some half-empty notebooks they could use, pens and pencils, their sacred D&D bestiaries, a copy of _Dungeons and Dragons Companion Set,_ and their battered, shared copy of _Eldritch Wizardry._ Mike lingered over the last book for a moment, his mind flicking briefly to that night two years ago when the Mind Flayer stepped out of their game and into real life, before he frowned and put it at the bottom of the pile.

Mike guessed he had a few minutes left before Will arrived. He thumped upstairs to the ground floor – his dad was sitting on the couch with Holly playing on the carpet; sounds of the washing up came from the kitchen – then rounded the balustrade and hurried up to the first floor.

Nancy’s bedroom door was open, and her room was dark. For the first time since that morning, Mike wondered where she was. Out with Jonathan? Other friends? She did have friends, Mike knew, although he’d never seen them; the only one he knew of was Barb. Nancy couldn’t have spent the summer alone – could she?

Mike ducked into the bathroom to relieve himself and freshen up. Glancing at his reflection as he washed his hands, Mike was reassured to see that his eyes weren’t puffy or red anymore. In fact, he looked entirely normal. Same beaky nose, same handful of dirt-coloured freckles tossed across his face. He frowned at himself and tried to flatten his hair only for it to immediately spring up. Mike caught his own eye and let his expression fall.

“I should bag my face,” he muttered glumly.

From downstairs, his mom called: “Mike! Will’s here!”

In the reflection, Mike’s eyes widened. He breathed in and his nostrils flared. “Don’t be weird,” he told himself. Then, over his shoulder, he yelled: “Coming!”

Turning the faucet off, Mike quickly wiped his hands, and went clattering out of the bathroom and down the stairs. As he descended in his socks, the open doorway below yawned wider to slowly reveal Will’s familiar sneakers, his long legs, shorts, Jonathan’s old _STYX_ t-shirt…

Will grinned up at him. “Hail, paladin!”

Mike thought he would burst with happiness. “And you, cleric!”

He bounded down the remaining stairs and came across the foyer. His mom stood with one hand on the door jam, looking fondly between them.

“You haven’t done this in a while,” she observed. “Will, how’s your mom?”

Will looked reluctantly away from Mike. “She’s good! Working a lot, I guess because of the Starcourt fire. She’s doing well.”

“I’m glad to hear that. Tell her I said hi.” She smiled and turned to Mike. “Snacks are in the kitchen. Otherwise, keep it down. Got it?”

“Yeah, mom.” Mike glanced at her briefly before refocusing on Will. “Keep it down. Got it.”

“I don’t know why I try,” she wondered aloud. As Will passed her, he said, “Thanks, Mrs Wheeler,” and Mike’s mom rolled her eyes, though she didn’t look stern. If anything, she looked quietly pleased. “Have fun, you two.”

Together, they escaped the foyer. Only once the basement door was closed and they’d thumped downstairs did Mike whirl around and pin Will with a broad grin.

“You came!” Mike resisted the urge to cringe at himself. “Obviously, you were going to. I guess I figured that maybe…”

“I was reading comics all day?” Will joked, and Mike’s face flooded with colour. Will smirked. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell the others.”

_Friends don’t lie._ “I was reading comics for a while,” Mike said. “Then I… got caught up in my head. I’m okay now, though.”

The basement around them was close and warm; the air stirred gently in the breeze coming in through the open half-windows. Will’s dark eyes moved slowly over Mike’s face, like he was memorising him. After a moment, he said: “It’s okay. I believe you.”

Mike smiled shyly. “Thanks.” He gestured over his shoulder and broke into a grin. “Want to see what I’ve done with the place?”

Will followed as Mike led them to the table. Taking off his backpack and putting it on a spare chair, Will looked around the newly clean basement. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you fold a pair of socks in your life,” he remarked. “What’s the special occasion?”

“This.” Mike sat down and started organising their notebooks. “Us. Campaigning.”

“We’ve done this a million times,” Will said, moving to sit opposite him. Their eyes snagged; Will tilted his head, a smile pricking the corner of his mouth. “You didn’t have to do all this.”

Mike fidgeted with a pen. “I wanted to,” he said honestly. “Think of it as… a clean slate. Just for you and me.”

Will watched him for a long, heady beat. When he spoke, his voice was soft and warm. “Thanks, Mike.”

Colouring, Mike shrugged. He awkwardly grabbed some pens and a notebook and pushed them over to Will. “Don’t mention it,” he managed. “Remind me. Where did we leave off?”


	13. Chapter 13

In a matter of hours, he and Will had sketched out most of the plot for their campaign. The table was littered with paper – small illustrations courtesy of Will; snippets of Mike’s script ideas – and every D&D book was cracked open, with bookmarks sticking out at odd angles and other pages dog-eared. Upstairs, Mike could just hear the television – maybe his parents and Holly were watching a CBS movie – but otherwise the house was humid and quiet. They had turned over the Tangerine Dream cassette at least half a dozen times. An expansive atmospheric track played in the background.

Will and Mike were in the goblin keep. They stood at the feet of the goblin king’s throne as his minions swarmed around them. Mike’s paladin turned to his cleric and said –

“Wait,” Mike interrupted. “Does this make sense?”

Will refocused on Mike. His hair was slightly mussed from where he’d bunched his hands in it – he always did that when he was lost in thought. “I think so,” Will replied, frowning. Looking down at the page in front of him, Will trailed his pencil down the plot points they’d mapped so far.

“If the Party elects to follow the goblin raiders, then they’ll arrive in the keep, confronting the goblin king,” Will recited. “Then, they must decide whether to spare the goblin tribe or seek revenge for the villagers they sought to defend.”

“Which was at the start of your campaign,” Mike added, and Will said: “Yes, right. Which bit doesn’t make sense?”

Leaning back in his chair, Mike chewed his lip in thought. “Well… if our campaign is an alternate version of yours, would the Party end up in the same place both times? I mean, if everything leading up to this point has been fundamentally altered, does the destination remain the same?”

Will exhaled; his fringe fluttered. “Good point.” They frowned at each other for a moment. “I think it works,” Will said slowly. “A predestination paradox doesn’t mean the end of the story changes; it just means the way the story is told changes.”

“But what about destiny?” Mike pressed. “Think about it. Your campaign ended with the Party sacrificing themselves to save the villagers. Our campaign starts right before that moment, when they decide to do everything different, therefore altering their timeline. But what if this is just stretching out the inevitable?” He was leaning across the table, both hands gesturing. “What if the Party was always supposed to die?”

“I get you.” And Mike knew that Will would. He didn’t have to know that Mike wasn’t thinking entirely about the campaign. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, he was thinking about himself.

Will tapped his bottom lip with a pencil. Mike realised it was the same pencil Will used the other day at his house: _MIKE WHEELER_ remained taped to the side.

“What if the Party meets a sage on the way to the keep?” Will suggested. “And this sage warns them, in so many words, what will happen if they do meet the goblin king?”

Mike realised he was rubbing his own mouth in the same place Will was tapping his pencil. He lowered his hand with difficulty. “So, it’s a ‘here be dragons' moment?”

Will nodded. “Yeah. I mean, I know what you’re saying, about the timeline and the different paths, but I don’t think anyone has a fixed destiny. I think it changes all the time. Anything could happen that throws the whole of your life off course, and there’s nothing you can do except...”

“React,” Mike finished lowly.

Will looked at him. “Yeah.”

In the quiet that followed, the cassette clicked over to the final track on side B. Mike glanced at Will through his eyelashes. “Do you really think that?” he asked. “That all we do is react to things that happen to us?”

“It’s what I’ve had to do,” Will replied.

“But what if you didn’t.” When Will's expression turned curious, Mike continued: “Do you ever wonder what might have happened if the Mind Flayer hadn’t come to Hawkins?”

Will went very still.

“Sometimes,” he replied, voice little more than a murmur. “But there’s no point, Mike. He’s real, and he exists, and no matter how many times we try, he keeps coming back.”

Mike’s chest seized with emotion; he suddenly reached across and held Will's hand in his. “Will,” he insisted, “look at me. Okay?” Will’s eyes were black as marble. “I’m never going to leave you. I promise. From now, you’ll never have to face him alone ever again.” Mike’s eyes prickled. “Never. Okay?”

Will's breath shuddered when he exhaled. He nodded once, and again when Mike kept watching him.

“Okay,” Will said. “Yeah.”

“Besides,” Mike continued, injecting some confidence into his voice, “I think it takes real bravery to react the way you do. No one else has faced up to him as much as you have, Will. It’s just been you.”

Will laughed shakily. “That is not true. What about you and the Party at Starcourt? Lucas' _fireworks_? El and her powers? No way could I have done that alone.”

“So, you’re surrounded by incredibly talented friends,” Mike interpreted lightly. “That’s nothing, really.”

“Not true,” Will repeated. “It’s everything, Mike.”

Mike shrugged again, dropping his eyes to the table. They were still holding hands. When he looked back up, he was surprised to see Will watching him closely, something stirring in his expression. Mike’s chest twinged. He put down his pencil and drew back, crossing his arms over his notebook.

“I still want to know, by the way.” One of Will’s eyebrows quirked. Mike added: “What you really think of fate, destiny. All that kind of stuff.”

As Will opened his mouth the music reached a crescendo, then the cassette clicked. They both looked over at the tape deck.

“I’ll get it.” Mike got up and went over to the cassette box. He started poking through it, feeling Will’s eyes on him. “What do you want to listen to?”

“Maybe… Oh!” Untangling himself, Will appeared by Mike’s side and sank onto his knees. He took the box from Mike and began to sift, picking up cassettes and turning them over, a furrow between his eyebrows.

Mike watched him from behind his fringe. That was the only good thing about his stupid hair: it was just long enough to hide behind.

Their bare legs almost touched. Will’s forearm brushed against Mike’s side as he sorted through the box. Will didn’t smell like pine and smoke this evening; instead, there was the faint whisper of sweat and something sharp, like lemon. Through the open windows came the distant roll of thunder. Their proximity afforded Mike a glimpse of Will’s long eyelashes as he looked up at the sky, his sloped nose, how his lips parted slightly in wonder as the thunder rumbled again.

“Maybe it’ll rain!” Will murmured.

“Yeah,” Mike replied quietly, feeling the heat prickle up his neck. “Maybe.”

Still looking up at the windows, Will grinned. Then he turned his head, and he and Mike were close enough that Mike’s heart pounded so hard he knew, he _knew,_ Will must have heard it too.

“You’ve got more freckles,” Will whispered.

Mike swallowed thickly. “Do I?”

“Yeah.” Will was so close Mike felt the air stir when he spoke. “You do. All over. Like stars.”

A confused bolt of panic struck him just as the thunder sounded, louder than before, enough that the curtains swelled inwards with a gust of rain-cool air, and the house around them seemed to tremble, and when Mike finally tore himself from Will to look outside, the dark clouds burst.

For the first time in weeks, it was raining.

The onslaught shocked them into reality. Mike scrambled up to close the windows as Will followed suit, drawing the curtains against the bilious sky. Rain hammered against the roof. They stood there for a moment, listening. The room was a cocoon.

Mike registered Will returning to the cassette box. He picked up a purple cassette, put it in the player, and pressed play. The heady beat and a woman’s unearthly, soaring voice reminded him of the other cassette they’d played, Tangerine Dream.

“This is cool,” Mike said, trying not to think about how close Will had been to him just a moment before. “This definitely sounds like a Jonathan song. How’d it get in the D&D box?”

“It must be part of his plan to teach us good musical taste,” Will replied, smiling. “I think he feels he would have failed as a brother if I don’t think bands like The Cure are cool.”

Mike made a knowing face, though he’d never heard of them. “And what’s this?”

“Cocteau Twins.” Will got to his feet and stretched. He sank down onto the couch, kicking off his shoes and drawing his knees up to his chest. Winding his arms around his legs, Will rested his chin on one forearm.

Despite knowing that sitting beside one another might mean a repeat of Mike’s tangled-up feelings, he automatically joined Will and leaned back against the arm of the couch, stretching his legs out until his stocking feet nearly touched Will. Mike had shot up over summer; it was only last Halloween that they’d sat here, side by side, sinking into the middle of the couch. An uncomfortable prickling feeling came over him. Things were changing so much, so fast. Too fast.

The heavy rain sounded like drums in the deep. Mike tilted his head sideways against the cushions and Will’s dark eyes darted over to him.

“Hey, Mike,” Will said quietly. “What about you? Do you believe in fate?”

Mike chewed his bottom lip for a moment. If anyone else had asked him, Mike knew he wouldn’t think about it for more than twenty seconds before throwing out some half-baked response. He made a contemplative sound and curled closer into the back of the couch.

“I think so.” Frowning, he focused on the way Will’s index finger slowly drew a circle on the side of his calf. Mike wondered fleetingly what it would feel like if Will’s hands were on him instead. “At least, I think I do. I mean, there are some things that people expect out of what you do in life, and how you do it, and who with. Like… getting a job or buying a car.” Like Nancy in their mom’s makeup and her new frizzy hairstyle. “And then I think there’s a different part of it which is more about, like, who you are as a person, and how you think about things. Those two – realities, I guess, can exist together but they don’t always make sense.”

Mike drew his knees up, crossed his arms around his legs, and adjusted himself against the cushions. He shrugged. “Maybe there’s only a handful of things that will happen to us no matter what. Like, even if I lived in Montauk, you and I would still become friends.”

A small smile gathered in the corner of Will’s mouth.

“Maybe not in kindergarten,” Mike continued, “but sometime. Like when we were older. Maybe we went to the same college or worked the same job, or something.”

“What about the others?” Will asked, still drawing circles on his leg. “You and Lucas would always be best friends. I bet Dustin would work for NASA.”

“He so would!” Then Mike frowned. “Lucas isn’t my only best friend,” he said. “I have three best friends.”

“Yeah, I know.” Will didn’t sound doubtful, exactly, but his eyes skipped away before Mike could ask him. “I don’t believe in fate,” he added softly. “Outside of stories, I don’t like the idea very much.”

Mike stretched his leg out to nudge Will with one stocking foot. “What don’t you like about it?”

Will shrugged and kept his eyes down. “I like to think we can all do and be whatever we want. But sometimes it’s like everyone wants you to just be one thing.”

“I know what you mean,” Mike said earnestly. “That’s what I was trying to say, but you said it much better.”

They traded a fleeting smile. Will made a thoughtful face and rocked back on his butt, his arms still looped around his knees. “You know, Jonathan once asked me if I would rather be friends with David Bowie or Kenny Rogers.”

Mike frowned. “Who’s Kenny Rogers?”

Will stared at him for a moment before bursting into laughter. A slow grin spread across Mike’s face as he watched Will, who had buried half his face into one forearm. “What?” Will shook his head, still laughing. “What’s so funny? I’m serious, who’s Kenny Rogers?”

When Will resurfaced his cheeks were pink. “It doesn’t matter,” he managed, grinning broadly. “You know who David Bowie is, though, right?”

“Uh…” _Labyrinth_? “I think so?”

“Maybe you’re not doomed yet,” Will teased, and Mike blushed, embarrassed.

“Nancy’s my sister, remember!” Mike retorted. “We can’t all have cool brothers like you.”

Will’s eyes glittered. “That sounds like an excuse to me, Wheeler.”

Pretending offence, Mike gently kicked out at Will with one foot. “Blame my boring-ass parents. I’m a totally innocent party!”

Will’s laughter trailed off. They kept looking at each other: Will, pink and flushed; Mike, biting his lip. The basement was filled with the smell of hot rain and lemons. The cassette had stopped but the pouring rain continued. As Will’s pupils swelled in the warm orange light, thunder rumbled in the distance. The fine hair on Mike’s forearms rose in the humid air. His foot was still pressed against Will’s leg.

Suddenly, Will brightened. “I nearly forgot!” He unwound his legs and got up from the couch. Mike felt vaguely disorientated, like when you wake up from a long nap. Will was digging through his backpack. Closing his eyes briefly, Mike leaned his head back and breathed in. When the couch dipped again, he opened his eyes.

Will handed him _Watchtower._

“I’ve almost finished,” he said. “But I thought you’d like to start it, just to see what I meant about Ryke and Errel.”

“Cool, thanks!” Mike took the book and immediately flipped it over, smoothing one hand over the blurb. His palms were a little clammy. “You said it was different.”

Unexpectedly, Will blushed. “Uh, did I?”

Mike smiled, bemused, and blinked. “Yeah. You said you liked it because it was different. Is it any good?”

“Oh, right.” Was it his imagination, or did the smile Will shoot him seem weirdly relieved? “It’s surprised me, actually. I don’t know what I was expecting, but… it’s really good. Seriously, I think you’ll like it. And it is going to be helpful for the campaign.”

Mike wrinkled his nose. “I think if we debate paradoxes anymore, I’m going to turn into one.”

“I think I will too,” Will replied, and grinned. “Try it. Tell me what you think. But…”

Looking up from the blurb, Mike caught Will’s eye. “Yeah?”

“It’s… not exactly a normal fantasy story.” When Mike didn’t reply, Will fidgeted and added: “I won’t give anything away. Just… read it with an open mind, okay?”

“Okay,” Mike replied slowly. “What, does it have a sex scene in it, or something?”

When Will rolled his eyes, he looked very much like Mrs Byers. “ _No,_ ” he drawled. “It’s just different. You’ll see.”

Shrugging, Mike said, “Okay, cool. Thanks.” He leaned to the side and put the book on the coffee table. As he got comfortable on the couch again, Mike noticed that the colour that had risen in Will’s cheeks hadn’t dissipated; if anything, he seemed guarded. Will glanced up and noticed Mike frowning at him.

“What?” Will sounded nervous.

“Nothing.” Mike narrowed his eyes. “Are you sure there’s not a sex scene in this?”

“No, Mike! Oh my God.”

Mike gave him a lopsided grin. “Just checking. Hey, do you want to watch a movie? I don’t feel like working on the campaign anymore.”

“Me neither.” Will glanced at him. “Do you… want to watch _The Dark Crystal_? I know it’s ancient history and kind of childish, but –”

“Absolutely,” Mike said firmly.


	14. Chapter 14

The next fortnight was taken up with finishing off the campaign. Mike would bike over to Will’s house or Will to his, and they’d spend afternoons and sometimes whole evenings immersed in their story. They’d constructed campaigns independently, but as they were both the Dungeon Master this time, Mike found the process even more enjoyable – if that were possible. They sprawled over the orange shag carpet in his basement thinking up NPCs; they sat in the shade of an old oak tree in Will’s backyard and came up with their characters’ backstories; and, once or twice, they biked to the quarry, just them, and talked the whole way, their bikes weaving in and out, the smell of pine tar rich in the heavy, warm air.

The summer was hot and getting hotter. After the thunderstorm at Mike’s house, Hawkins oscillated between intense, humid afternoons with bruise-coloured clouds, and pristine blue-sky mornings where the sun could bake eggs on the pavement. They all lived in shirts and shorts; only El occasionally resorted to a skirt. Grubby sneakers, sweaty foreheads, Max’s copper hair pulled into a thick ponytail. Will had taken to wearing more of Jonathan’s cast-off t-shirts – they suited him. Gone were the too-small sleeves and awkward prints. Instead, Will grew into his height, looking more his age with every day that passed. Not that Mike spent a lot of time observing how Will looked; it was a side-effect of hanging out so much, that was all.

But Mike had learned his lesson. Though he and Will devoted significant time to their campaign, Mike took care to hang out with Lucas and Dustin, and, when they were around, Max and El. Around late July they all pooled their pocket money to see _National Lampoon’s European Vacation_ ; and a few days later, Steve made a rare appearance to spot them tickets for _Weird Science_ (which was unsurprisingly terrible).

Mike’s strange, prickling feelings whenever he was around Will hadn’t subsided. They seemed to grow stronger – and they were extremely inconvenient. Mercifully, there hadn’t been a repeat of _Back to the Future,_ but whenever they spent time alone, Mike ensured he focused on the ordinary parts of Will in the hope this would deescalate whatever storm cloud was gathering in the back of his mind. Aspects of Will that had previously made Mike flush with conflicting desire – standing close enough that their arms touched; Will flicking a fly from Mike’s head, his fingers brushing through Mike’s hair; the confusing sight of Will’s bare thighs in shorts – were neutralised when Mike instead concentrated on how good Max was at skateboarding, or that El laughed more freely these days.

In the span of a month, the girls were more confident, happier. Mike also felt like a totally different person than the one he was in June. But he was dogged by an unrelenting shadow, one that stretched its fingers out when he was laying in bed on overheated nights and drew its nails up his skin, conjuring faceless visions of one of the teenaged cashiers at the movie theatre, Marty McFly, the aerobics guy; and, perhaps most frighteningly, Will, with his dark eyes and hair and a grin that made Mike’s chest contract.

It still wasn’t normal – _he_ still wasn’t normal. But he could beat… whatever this was. He was a horny teenager; it was part of the freaking _package_ to get twisted-up about swimsuits and bitten lips and the mole on the underside of Will’s left forearm.

This was fine. Things were under control. Everything was cool.


	15. Chapter 15

Mike sped down the road.

The sun was at its apex; it beat down mercilessly against his billowing t-shirt and wavy dark hair. It had grown long enough now that his mom was starting to talk about going to the hairdresser before school started again. Personally, Mike liked it, mainly because he could duck his head and hide behind his fringe if need be.

The long, sloping road down towards the Byers’ house was strewn with rust-coloured pine needles. A hot breeze swelled behind Mike as if he were a sailboat, and he imagined it pushing him down the familiar road straight to Will.

As Mike hit the flat, he noticed that neither one of the Byers’ beat-up cars were in the driveway. According to his mom, who had heard from Nancy, Jonathan had a new job at one of the offices downtown. Apparently, all he did was photocopy paperwork all day. Similarly, El was almost always at Max’s house. Lucas told him that Max’s parents were talking about buying a bunkbed so she and Max wouldn’t have to top-and-tail anymore. Between Jonathan and El being out and Mrs Byers, who continued to work at Melvald’s any and every shift going, Will was left mostly to his own devices. For the past fortnight, that had been perfect. It meant Mike and Will could spread papers all over Will’s bedroom floor and no one would disturb them, usually not until well into the evening.

But this afternoon, at long last, their time had come.

Mike grinned to himself as he swung into the driveway, his bike bumping over the usual tire tracks. Will’s bike was propped up against the porch as it always was. Mike hit the breaks and dismounted in one smooth motion, ticking the bike over to stash it next to Will’s. As Mike thumped up the front porch steps and into the shade, cool relief prickled over his heated skin. Will wasn’t wrong – Mike had at dozens of new freckles all over his body. Incredibly, they made him look even uglier than usual.

Knocking on the door, Mike called: “It’s me! Open up!”

He couldn’t believe that this afternoon the Party would start his and Will’s campaign. It felt like a million years had passed since he’d first arrived at Will’s house with the idea to implement phase two of his summer apology. He and Will had announced their grand plan just last night. Only Dustin seemed genuinely excited. Lucas put on a show of enthusiasm, but Mike noticed – probably for the first real time – how disinterested he was. Max had rolled her eyes and teased them about becoming even bigger nerds over the summer. El had asked, “ _This is dragon game?_ ”

Mike thought her response was a little offensive. She’d spent the better part of a summer swapping spit with him, and he hadn’t taught her anything other than ‘dragon game’? He wasn’t sure who to be more disappointed with – her, or him.

Why hadn’t Will come out yet? Frowning, Mike knocked again. “Will? It’s me. You coming?”

Scratching his nose, Mike turned briefly and glanced behind him. Will’s bike was still there. Maybe he was out in the yard? Adjusting the straps of his backpack, Mike retreated down the porch steps and rounded the Byers’ house, winding through overgrown weeds. The white-hot sun blistered against the back of his neck and legs as he picked his way to the backyard, shading his face with one hand.

The yard was empty. Even the battered path that once led to Castle Byers was brimming with knee-high grass. Mike peered into the forest shade but couldn’t see anything for the glare. Still frowning, partly in thought but mostly against the sun, Mike continued around the back of the house and went up the back steps. Mrs Byers used to keep it unlocked, but for the past two years a key hanged on a piece of string hidden beneath the stairs. Mike groped through cobwebs to find it, then stuck it in the door and went into the house.

The door swung wide on rusting hinges, and the flyscreen banged closed behind him. Mike blinked in the sudden shadow and blindly nudged the door rock with one sneaker, so the door stayed open.

As his eyes adjusted to the tepid atmosphere of the Byers’ house, Mike immediately noticed the stillness. Usually there was something, even when it was just him and Will hanging around alone. A radio, the television, Jonathan’s tape deck. The Byers’ nearly-broken fan whirring in the corner of the kitchen. Now: nothing.

Apprehension gathered in his limbs. Mike started walking down the hallway, ears pricked.

“Will?” he said, his voice sounding far too loud after the bath-warm deafness of a summer day. “Are you here? Where are you?” Then, as fear roused itself, he called: “Will!”

The first bedroom he passed was Mrs Byers’ – the door was closed. Opposite it was El’s room, which Mike had never seen before. As he hurried by now, he glimpsed an unmade bed, a poster of the Karate Kid, paisley-printed curtains. Next was Jonathan’s room – empty. Mike’s pulse beat heavily in his throat. As he reached Will’s ajar door, he thought fleetingly of Will’s descriptions of the Upside Down: how things could turn from normal to nightmarish in a second. Swallowing down his panic, Mike stretched out one shaking hand. He rested his fingertips against the door. He pushed.

Will’s bed was made. His desk was scattered with papers, half-open notebooks. D&D manuals and a stack of what looked like more novels from the library. Pictures tacked onto the wall. A poster Mike gave him last week of _Friday the 13 th, _one of the first horror films they ever saw together.

Most disconcerting of all was Will’s dirty white sneakers which lay, laces trailing, at the foot of his bed.

“Will!” Mike yelled.

The door to his left suddenly opened. Mike leaped back until he hit the wall behind him, adrenaline flooding through him like ice. Cold air rushed into the hallway. His heart hammered.

Then, Will appeared in the doorway.

“Oh my God!” Mike sagged and covered his face with his hands. “Oh, my God. Will! What the fuck!”

“Mike?” Will sounded equally surprised. “What are you _doing_?”

“Coming to find you!” Dragging his hands down until he was only covering his mouth, Mike looked at Will in mingled fury and misery. “Oh my God, you scared the _shit_ out of me. I _actually_ think I crapped myself.”

Will’s face was a mask of bemused shock. “Please don’t,” he managed. “Are you okay?”

“No,” Mike moaned. He rubbed his face once, roughly, then pushed off from the wall. Meeting Will’s gaze, he motioned with open palms. “Please, never do that to me again. My heart can’t take it.”

It was then Mike noticed that Will’s hair was damp and fluffy. His face was flushed, and his t-shirt stuck partly to him in patches. Wet footsteps trailed behind him. Will was smiling, his eyebrows furrowed in a way Mike could only interpret as fond.

“You dummy,” Will teased. “I was taking a cold shower.”

“I know that now!” Mike implored. “I was knocking and knocking. I came in the back – I thought something had happened…”

Will shook his head and laughed quietly, his nose wrinkling, though his eyes remained fastened on Mike. “Nope. Nothing to report. Although, we are almost out of soap, so…”

Mike groaned aloud. “Shut up! God. Okay, I think my heart’s gone back to normal now.”

“Well… Let’s see.”

Will crossed the threshold and approached Mike, who immediately stilled. Tilting his head to the side, Will closed the space between them until they were as close that time in the basement during the thunderstorm. He smelled honeyed, like the shampoo all the Byers used. As if in slow motion, Will reached up and pressed two fingers to Mike’s pulse point.

Unable to help himself, Mike swallowed.

Will’s eyes darted down to watch the movement, then flashed up to meet Mike’s. In this light, Will’s eyes were hazelnut. He was so close Mike blinked to bring him in focus; Will’s eyelashes stuttered in response. His hand against Mike’s throat was cool and slightly damp.

“Seems normal to me,” Will said softly. Mike’s pulse thundered between them. “Do you feel better?”

Mike couldn’t trust himself to speak. He nodded once; his mouth parted.

“Good.” Will’s warm brown eyes started to recede. As he lowered his hand, Mike felt the imprint of Will’s skin as if it burned.

“So – you’re okay?” Mike asked dumbly.

Will bit back a grin. “Yeah,” he replied. “I am. Thanks for checking on me, Mike.”

“Of course,” Mike said. “Anytime. Always. No problem.”

They looked at each other for a long moment. The shower dripped behind Will. Sweet air lingered around them. Will half-turned towards his bedroom: “Do you want to…?”

“Absolutely,” Mike blurted.

With Will’s back turned, Mike could compose himself. He focused on squashing the heat that flared at Will’s proximity and touch. Mechanically following Will into his bedroom, Mike glanced surreptitiously at Will from the corner of his eye. He was wearing a black MTV t-shirt and the same blue shorts he’d worn all summer. Mike had seen him in this a hundred times, but the sight of Will’s bare legs still sent a tremor of renewed panic through him.

“So,” he started loudly. “Are you ready for this afternoon?”

Will stuffed his pyjamas into a drawer and looked at Mike from over his shoulder. “Uh, yeah. Totally.”

That wasn’t the resounding reply he expected. Frowning lightly, Mike drifted further into the room. “Hey, what’s up? All joking aside, are you okay?”

“What?” Will turned and leaned against his dresser. He shrugged and made a face. “Yeah, completely normal.” There was a brief pause, then Will sighed. “I mean… not really.”

Mike took off his backpack, dropping it on the carpet next to Will’s sneakers, and sank onto the foot of the bed. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Will fidgeted. “Yeah? If you’re not in the mood, we don’t have to. It’s kind of stupid anyway.”

“Not possible,” Mike replied staunchly. “C’mon. Let’s hear it.”

Will appeared to fight with himself for a moment before he pushed off from the dresser and side-stepped towards the bed. He sat with one leg crossed beneath him. The buttery sunlight poured in through the tree outside Will’s window, dappling them in both in shadow.

“Well…” Will frowned at the bed cover. When he met Mike’s gaze, he looked conflicted. “I don’t want to bring this all up again, because it’s long gone, but… is campaigning with the Party even a good idea? It was only a few weeks ago that you and Lucas thought D&D was pointless. And I saw how Lucas reacted yesterday. I don’t – I don’t want to make a fool of myself all over again just because you wanted to make things up to me.”

Mike blinked in surprise. “Uh –”

“Don’t get me wrong, it’s been awesome to hang out again, just us, like old times. But this morning I was just thinking – maybe you were right. It _is_ time to grow up. We’ll be going back to school soon and things will be different all over again. And I don’t want to be called the ‘Zombie Boy’ anymore, I just want to be myself –”

Will bit his lip against whatever he was about to say. Mike’s mind buzzed. Had Will been thinking about all of this since Starcourt? Mike hadn’t noticed anything wrong. If anything, Will had been cheerful and light-hearted, laughing more and joking like he only did when he felt truly relaxed and happy. But now, as his eyes darted over Will’s face, Mike realised this was much deeper than he initially thought.

Maybe summer had been a black scribble of confusion for them both.

“How long have you been worrying about this?”

“I don’t know,” he said bitterly. “Since June? What does it matter? All that matters is that I’m the odd one out when everyone else is growing up and changing.”

“You’re not odd,” Mike interjected, frowning. “We’re all weird. Dustin didn’t have front _teeth_ until last year.”

“That’s not the point.” Will closed his eyes briefly. Mike waited. When he opened them again, Mike leaned forward, intent on understanding just why Will felt all messed up.

Will’s expression was pared back, vulnerable. “When you suggested doing a campaign together, I thought things would go back to the way they were. And yeah, the Party’s been together, but it’s nowhere close to what it used to be. Being with you has been…” Despite himself, Mike’s pulse skipped. “It’s meant everything to me, Mike. I missed you so much. And we’ve come back, you know? You and me. But when I think of showing Dustin and Lucas what we’ve created…” Will’s eyes dropped to a spare thread on his bed cover, which he kept twisting around one finger. “I’m worried they won’t get it. This campaign feels like _our_ campaign. Sharing it feels – weird, somehow.”

“Dustin and Lucas aren’t going to laugh,” Mike said softly.

“Maybe not.” Will shrugged, then looked up. The shade made his eyes dark again – inscrutable. “It doesn’t stop me wondering, though. And then I think about going back to school, and it’s like… a big mess.”

“I get you.” And he thought he did. Mike would be lying if he said the same thought hadn’t occurred to him. Lately, when he was around other people, he found himself worrying that they could… _tell._ Mike was quiet for a long moment. When he spoke again, his voice was gentle in the way reserved only for Will. “I won’t pretend to understand what it was like last year, when people called you… that. But I do know what it feels like to be on the outside. And I think that, out of everyone in stupid old Hawkins, Dustin and Lucas are the _last_ people who are going to think our campaign is pointless. If Lucas says anything, I’ll – I’ll fight him.”

Will barked out a laugh. “You? Fight Lucas?”

Belatedly realising what this would entail, Mike elected to backtrack. “Like, in a metaphorical way.”

Although Will still looked deeply unhappy, the corner of his mouth curled upward. “Sure.”

“I mean it, Will. We’re a Party. Things might be changing – or, well, they have changed. _I_ changed. But I came back. No matter what, we’ve done things that no one else in Hawkins or anywhere could ever understand. Dustin has Suzie, and Lucas and Max have each other, but we’re still friends. We’re still together.”

“Maybe you’re right,” Will murmured, and Mike said, “I am. Trust me on this. There is no way that Dustin and Lucas are going to laugh once they see our campaign. It’s the best story we’ve written.”

Will sniffed and smiled. “That’s pretty high praise.”

“It deserves it,” Mike replied. He searched Will’s eyes. “I am so, _so_ sorry for what I did to you. That was the shittest friend move in history. But I guarantee that Dustin and Lucas aren’t nearly as stupid. If you want to call off the campaign,” he added, “I totally understand. We’ll all just go see a movie or something. Will?”

They watched each other.

“This is your call. Whatever you want to do. I’m with you.”

In the quiet that followed, Will’s gaze moved slowly over Mike’s face. Mike wasn’t sure what else he could have said without revealing his private troubles. The apprehension Will felt about returning to school was exactly what Mike had been thinking for a week or so. As the weather grew hotter, the bubble grew more transparent; a little under a month, and it would burst. What he did know, without a _doubt,_ was that Dustin and Lucas were not assholes. He and Lucas _had_ been assholes in June. But he wasn’t the same person he was then. Maybe he was the only person who understood that; he hoped that, out of everyone, Will would be the one to get it too.

Will nodded once. Then, a shy smile began to slowly uncurl along his mouth.

“We should do the campaign.”

Mike searched him. “Are you sure?”

Nodding with renewed vigour, Will’s eyes skipped between Mike’s. “Yeah,” he replied firmly. “You’re right. We’ve put a lot of work into this. It’d be stupid to just forget about it.”

“Cool.” Mike gave him a small smile. He ducked his head and glanced up, his long fringe tangling across his eyes. “I’m… really glad you said that.”

“I like D&D,” Will said, raising his eyebrows to punctuate his point. “It’s just – who I am. I’m tired of liking things other people say I should.”

“Yeah,” Mike echoed, looking down at the spare thread on Will’s bed cover. “I get what you mean.”

They sat in a companionable silence for a moment. The sunlight dappled Will’s legs, his knees. Mike watched beneath his fringe as Will started to draw a small circle on his thigh. The movement was slow, almost aimless, like he was lost in thought. When Mike sat back up and shook his fringe out of his face, Will was gazing out the window, his dusty eyelashes catching the light. Dust motes spun in the air.

“Hey, Will?”

Will looked at him, eyes widening as if Mike had startled him from a reverie. He blinked. “Yeah?”

Was this déjà vu? Mike held their gaze and, frowning, said, “Uh. Nothing. Lost my train of thought.”

Will’s cheek dimpled as he smiled. “Okay. Oh, hey, I have something to show you.” Mike watched as Will sat up and leaned over to grab a binder from his desk. The front plastic cover was immediately recognisable: it was Will’s collection of D&D illustrations.

“I haven’t seen these in ages!” Mike exclaimed, forgetting himself. He moved until he and Will were both sitting together on the bed, Mike’s thigh pressed to Will’s, their elbows bumping. Resolutely ignoring the stir in his stomach, Mike leaned close to watch as Will rested the binder on his knees and began leafing through it.

Will’s illustrations had changed a lot since they were kids. He’d clearly put his early drawings somewhere else, as this binder appeared to have started in the past couple of years or so. Most were of the Party; some were locations for their campaigns. Will liked imagining the detail of every place their Party visited: no matter who was DM, consulting Will on visual representation was an unspoken rule. They murmured to each other as Will turned the pages, remembering certain moments from campaigns or bemoaning their character choices (“I can’t believe I went through a mage phase,” Will remarked, peering at a depiction of a man in flowing robes). Every page reinforced to Mike how lucky he was to be friends with someone with so much talent.

“You’ve gotten so freaking good,” Mike commented, pausing over a picture of the Party on a mountaintop, gazing over a misty city. “My armour looks so realistic.”

Will’s voice was warmed by a smile. “Thanks, Mike. I like drawing our gear best, I think. And our character’s faces. It brings them to life.”

Mike pointed to Dustin’s dwarf. “Like I said, realistic.”

Laughing softly, Will shook his head and said, “So mean,” and Mike grinned sideways at him.

They poured over a few more pages until Will neared the last quarter of the binder. He flattened his hand against the page and turned to Mike. “Okay,” he started, “this is what I wanted to show you. They’re just preliminary sketches, so… keep that in mind. I wanted your input before I did up the final versions.”

Mike grinned in excitement. “Definitely! C’mon, show me.”

“Okay.” For the first time, Will appeared hesitant. He inhaled, then turned into the final section. “Here,” Will added, moving the binder onto Mike’s knees. “So you can see better.”

The drawings were – Mike couldn’t even call them drawings. It was like years had passed between their last campaign and this. Will’s illustrations were totally different. Gone were the childhood pencils and one-dimensionality: now, every figure was shaded and posed dynamically, staring into the distance or – as with Lucas’ ranger – drawing a longbow at a shadowy creature. Smaller studies littered the margins: mock-ups of armour and weapons; a painstaking depiction of the village from Will’s June campaign, complete with the goblin raiders lurking in the surrounding forest; snarling portraits of the goblin king and his minions. Mike turned the pages reverently, mouth slightly parted, drinking in every detailed scimitar or grinning bard. Most of them were in pencil, though Will had done a few larger illustrations in charcoal, such as a striking castle looming over a desolate battlefield before a storm front, or a miscellaneous study of a man riding a wolf with bristling fur. In some Will elected for colour – red lightning, blue eyes, a cascade of yellow hair. Mike had seen thousands of Will’s drawings in the time they knew each other, but none were like these. These illustrations could be in a book or a comic. They were so life-like – Mike felt the monsters could crawl through the page and rest on his hand.

The next page made his heart skip.

Will had drawn _him_. It was undeniably Mike Wheeler. His paladin was twisting in the seat of a saddle, his left arm covered by a large kite shield, his right hand hoisting a sword. The paladin wore no helmet: instead, his face, which was rendered in significantly more detail than his body or the hose, was staring fiercely behind him, a invisible wind catching thick dark hair and drawing it away from a fine face with a long, proud nose, a full mouth, and thick eyebrows pulled into a frown. There were freckles everywhere. Yet, unlike Mike’s real-life freckles, which were scattered randomly and often in unbecoming places, like the corner of his mouth, each freckle was rendered with a deliberate hand. Mike carefully hovered a hand over the hero’s face: here, too, were freckles in the corners of his mouth. The paladin was focused and poised in a way that Mike never was. Above all, he was… good-looking. Even handsome, like a prince in one of the Renaissance art books Will showed him once.

The longer he stared, the more his mind brimmed with questions. But there was one that burned above all others.

Was this how Will saw him?

“Will –” Mike started.

“I told you, they’re just sketches.” Will’s hands appeared in his vision, and suddenly the binder was on Will’s knees and snapped shut.

Mike looked up. Will was disordered. His dark eyes were wide and dark, almost wild, and Mike noticed the pulse point on the side of his throat move quickly, as if he were alarmed. Maybe he was just nervous because the drawings weren’t finished, and he was worried what Mike would think of them…

“It’s okay,” Mike said quickly. He swallowed and blinked, trying to sift through his thoughts. “I mean, they don’t look _just_ like sketches to me – they’re the most amazing things I’ve ever seen – but if you didn’t want me to see some of them, that’s okay… Artists are private people. I get it.”

Will kept looking at him. Mike felt a nervous sweat prickle his armpits.

“The goblins look so realistic; that’s exactly how I pictured them. And Lucas’ longbow is perfect – I think he has enough XP to get a new one anyway, so that works. And, oh my God, Dustin’s bard is so funny, I like his lute, that’s a _great_ detail…” Why couldn’t he shut up? Mike heard himself talking but couldn’t register what he was saying. “My paladin looks super cool. Do I have a horse? I can’t remember if I do. Maybe one of the villagers gives it to me, as like, a gift, given we’re, you know, about to save their homes and everything…”

At long last, he trailed off. Mike stared miserably over Will’s right shoulder at the poster of _Friday the 13 th. _Where was Jason with a machete when you needed him?

“I’m not an artist,” Will said quietly. Mike’s eyes immediately darted to his. “You said that artists are private people. I’m not an artist yet. I just like to draw.”

“If you’re not an artist, I’m an Ewok.” Mike gestured to the binder. “Will, those are incredible. They should be in _books._ You’re the most talented person I know. I mean it.”

Will’s cheeks coloured. He glanced down at the binder and slowly lowered it until it rested on his thighs.

He was biting his lip. Mike’s eyes kept flicking to it.

“Will?” Mike lowered his voice. “I’m sorry if I looked too far. Like you said, they’re sketches. I get that you wouldn’t want to share all of them.”

“No.” Closing his eyes briefly, Will appeared to gather himself. When he looked back up at Mike, his expression was clear and calm. Smiling softly, he added: “That’s what collaborators do, right? They share things.”

Mike started to grin, partly in relief. “Right! Just what we always wanted to do. Remember our comic ideas? I’d write the stories and you’d do the illustrations.”

“Medieval _X-Men_ ,” Will joked weakly, and Mike nodded in support. “Exactly. And who knows, maybe we end up doing that when we’re older. We could only collaborate with each other. We’d be partners.”

The tense line along Will’s shoulders continued to loosen. “How cool would it be to turn fantasy stories into comics? I don’t get why no one’s done it yet.”

“And if they have, we should find out,” Mike added in grim determination. “Even stuck out here, in ass-backwards Hawkins.”

Will ducked his head to laugh, and Mike found himself grinning, his eyebrows crinkling against the plum-sweet bubble of warmth that swelled in his chest. When their gaze met, Mike couldn’t help softening. The longer he looked at Will, the more he felt… Sometimes he just wanted to…

“When were we meeting the others?” Will’s voice was soft and faraway.

“I can’t remember,” Mike heard himself reply. “Three, I think.”

Something deep stirred in Will’s expression. “Maybe we should go now so we can set things up.”

Will’s mouth continued to move. His bottom lip was pink, and slightly chapped from where he habitually bit it. There was a small freckle beneath his left eye. In the sunlight that poured into the bedroom, Will’s eyes should have been hazel; instead, they were as dark as Mike had ever seen, though it took him a moment to realise Will’s pupils were swollen like two black moons.

“Yeah,” Mike murmured, “good idea.”

They didn’t move. The weight of the moment clasped them. The smell of honey hung richly in the air. Mike’s mouth was dry; he licked his lips. Will glanced at the movement.

What did Will see when he looked at Mike? Right now, what did he see?

It felt like a hook curled around his ribs. Heat thundered in his throat, his face. They were sitting so close together. It wouldn’t take a second thought to…

Like lights through fog, reality returned to Mike. Blinking, he refocused on Will’s face. His friend’s face. His _friend._

Mike _felt_ the blackness scribble over the moment. It was one thing to think – thoughts – about guys. But this wasn’t the safety of his bedroom or the shower: this was here, now, in Will’s childhood room, less than an hour before the debut of their joint D&D campaign. And he was thinking of doing – what? _Kissing Will?_ And ruining everything, again? This time it wouldn’t be for a summer; it would be forever. Will was more important than whatever Mike was feeling right now.

This was getting out of hand.

Mike abruptly jerked backwards out of their bubble. He looked at his watch and exclaimed. “Shit, we’ll be late.”

“Crap,” Will replied. “Okay, let’s go.”

Together they got up and gathered their belongings. Mike swung his backpack on as Will put on his shoes and put the binder and his copy of the DM notes into his own bag. Concentrating on acting as normal as possible, Mike kept up a running commentary as they left the Byers’, got their bikes, and started back into the Hawkins suburbs. The blistering heat radiating off the tarmac made it difficult to speak without panting, but Mike continued valiantly. He talked as they passed Lucas’ house, the kindergarten with the swing-set where he and Will first met. He kept talking even as they arrived at Mike’s house, swept up the drive to stash their bikes, and went into his air-conditioned house.

He knew he was talking too much. But it was easier than listening to the panicking voice gabbling in the back of his head. The one that sounded like absolutely everyone whenever they heard about guys who… were like this.

Who were like him.


	16. Chapter 16

He and Will knew exactly how to set the scene for the campaign.

Once they grabbed some ice-cold drinks from the kitchen, they went down to the basement and closed the door firmly behind them. Despite Mike’s excitement, he’d privately dreaded the possibility that Will would suggest they wear costumes. It wasn’t something the Party always did, but Will’s cool purple cleric robe that Mrs Byers had made him a million years ago had certainly featured in more than a few adventures. Fortunately, Will, perhaps remembering the June campaign, hadn’t suggested it this time (D&D was still cool… the costumes, though, were perhaps a step too far).

They carefully prepared the board. Will had revived the model village from the June campaign, where the start of their story was set. Then they’d spent one evening expanding it to include a small mountain range and a forest – both scenes for pivotal events – and a yawning cave that represented the entrance to the goblin king’s lair. When Mike and Will finally stood back to admire their hard work, Mike was grinning.

“Man, this looks _awesome!_ ” He returned to the table and carefully adjusted a few of the figurines. “I can’t wait for Dustin and Lucas to see this. They’re going to lose their minds.”

“Should we put on some music?” Will went over to the box of cassettes and sank to his knees on the carpet. Mike joined him. Together, they started sifting through it.

Pulling out a familiar cassette, Will held it out to Mike. “What about this?” It was the band they listened to a few weeks ago: the _Cocteau Twins_ was printed on one side. That was the night of the lightning storm. When he and Will sat on the carpet as they were now, pressed against one another, and Will had turned those dark eyes to him, and Mike was filled with an impulse to…

“What about this?” Mike plunged his hand into the box and pulled out a cassette at random. When Will wrinkled his nose, Mike looked at it: _Renaissance Music Compilation Side A._ “Yeah,” Mike added wryly as Will grinned. “Maybe not.”

Ducking his head, Will continued to grin down at the white tape in his hand. Mike studied him surreptitiously. When Will looked back up, Mike quickly turned to put the Renaissance cassette away.

“Maybe this could be our tape,” Will suggested. Mike’s heart began to thump loudly. “Like, when we’re hanging out. Just us.”

“Yeah,” Mike repeated, ensuring he sounded light-hearted. “Yeah. Good idea.”

From far away, the front door slammed. Mike and Will jerked upright just as the basement door flew open and a troop of sneakers descended. Dustin and Lucas were bickering good-naturedly; Max brought up the rear, holding her skateboard under one arm.

“Hey guys,” she called, and Lucas and Dustin cried: “Greetings, companions!”

A fierce happiness swelled in Mike’s chest. He grinned at them and said, “Good morrow, bard and ranger both!”

Bounding down the last few stairs, Dustin doffed his Camp Know Where cap and dropped into a deep bow. “Paladin,” he intoned. “Cleric. How fare ye?”

“Very well,” Will replied happily. Mike looked over at him: Will’s eyes shone; joy radiated from every inch of his broad grin. The sight made Mike swallow against a desire that rose once more in his throat. He tore his eyes away.

Lucas clapped his hands together and rubbed them. “Let’s get this campaign started. You two have teased this mother long enough. What kind of a story you got planned?”

“My heart says adventure, but my head says puzzles,” Dustin observed, studying Mike and Will. “Let me guess: politics and intrigue!”

“A dungeon crawl?” Lucas guessed. “We haven’t done one of those in freaking months, man.”

Will held out his hands placatingly. “All your questions will be answered, my heroes. But first, who is this maiden with you?”

They all looked at Max. Taken aback, her pale eyes darted between them. “Uh, hi.”

“Good morrow,” Dustin corrected, and Lucas grinned at her. “Yeah, Max,” he teased. “It’s ‘good morrow’ down here.”

Rolling her eyes, Max fought back a smirk and nudged Lucas’ shoulder.

“Seriously, though,” Mike said. “Why are you here?”

Max’s face flushed hotly. “Wow, asshole. What a neighbourly welcome.”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he added hastily. “I meant, like, are you going to watch, or…? This campaign is going to be long.”

“Like, a few hours,” Will prompted.

“I know that,” Max replied sharply. She glanced at Lucas and tossed some heavy copper curls over one shoulder. “That’s why I’m here. I want to play.”

As one, Mike and Will deflated.

Dropping out of character, Will said reproachfully, “We didn’t plan for a creation session.”

Mike wasn’t as diplomatic. “That time wasted is going to throw out the _whole_ campaign!”

Lucas rolled his eyes. “Can you stop being drama queens, please? Character creation is no big deal,” he added to Max.

Crossing her arms and cocking one hip, Max gave them both an unimpressed look. “I don’t see what the problem is,” she said smoothly. “We already know what I am. A _zoomer._ Remember?”

“There’s no such thing as a ‘zoomer’!” Mike burst, and Dustin said, “Yeah, ‘zoomers’ aren’t a thing.”

When Max turned and raised her eyebrows at him, Dustin backpeddled. “I mean, technically. _Technically_ they aren’t a thing.”

She snorted. “You have gremlins and goblins, but you can’t pretend zoomers exist?”

“It’s more complicated than that,” Will muttered.

Mike marched over to the table and hefted a hardcover copy of _Unearthed Arcana._ “See this? This is a rule book. You can’t just go making crap up. It defeats the purpose of the whole _game._ ”

“Okay, okay!” Throwing up her hands, Max went and collapsed on the couch. “Fine, whatever. I won’t be a zoomer.”

“We’ll find something that fits,” Lucas assured her. He looked at Mike and Will and widened his eyes. “Right, guys?”

Exchanging a look with Will, Mike huffed. “Yeah, fine.”

“Great.” Staring at them for a pointed moment, Lucas took the copy of _Arcana_ and sat beside Max on the couch. Will fetched them a character sheet. Mike crossed his arms.

Dustin drifted to Mike’s side. “Well, I’m ready when you are. The board looks awesome, by the way.”

Mike glanced at him. “Thanks,” he muttered. “We worked really hard on it.”

“The miniature trees are a nice detail,” Dustin tried. After a beat, he lowered his voice. “Hey, it’ll be alright. It’s cool that she wants to play. We’ve wanted to do a bigger campaign for years.”

“Yeah, I know,” Mike replied, and he did. The thing is, he’d always expected _El_ would be the one to expand their Party. Not Max. Although Max had saved him at Starcourt and had started speaking to him like a person, not something nasty she’d stepped in, tension lingered between them. Mike half wondered if Max still resented him for everything to do with El.

The basement door opened and closed. Mike and Dustin turned around to see El descend the stairs. She paused midway down, one hand on the banister, and gazed around the room. When her eyes landed on Mike, she blinked.

“Am I late?”

“No,” Mike replied, hoping he sounded cool and unaffected.

Behind him, Will said, “Max is creating a character so she can play. Do you want to play too?”

El immediately looked at Mike for guidance. He pretended to pluck a spare thread on the shoulder of his polo shirt.

“I guess so,” El said slowly. She continued down the stairs.

Eagerly, Dustin said, “I can help you! I’ve taught loads of newbies how to play. It’s so easy. You’ll pick it up like that.” He snapped his fingers.

Mike made a face. “Since when have you taught us anything?”

“Did I say _you_?” Dustin retorted. “I mean – people. I’ve taught people.”

“Don’t tell me Mormon Suzie likes D&D,” Will remarked, smirking.

Dustin coloured. They started sniggering. “Shut up. She’s not allowed to play, _technically,_ because her parents think it’s evil. But she understands the game in theory.”

“Technically,” Mike added, and Dustin gave him the finger.

“Dustin,” El interrupted. “Teach me?”

Clicking his fingers again, Dustin said, “On it, fair lady!” To Mike he hissed: “Get Suzie’s name out of your mouth, would you, _please._ ”

“Or what,” Mike goaded, as Dustin escorted El to the table and set her up with a character sheet. “She’ll cast me down in fire and brimstone?”

“That’s not _funny_ , Mike,” Dustin warned, and Mike rolled his eyes.

He leaned back against the wooden panelled wall, arms still crossed, and surveyed the room. Lucas and Max were on the couch together, heads bent, _Arcana_ open between them. Despite her earlier sass, Max was laughing softly at something Lucas said. She made an inaudible comment; Lucas gave her a brilliant grin. Over by the table, El was sitting across from Dustin, frowning as Dustin scribbled on a piece of paper, probably explaining stats and skill checks. In true Dustin fashion, he looked as if he were interrupting himself and going off on tangents. El’s expression shifted from puzzled interest to sheer confusion.

“Wait,” Mike heard El say. “What is a ‘moral alignment’?”

Dustin exhaled loudly. “Oh, boy.”

“This is nice.”

Mike tilted his head to look at Will, who folded his hands behind him and leaned back on the wall beside Mike. Their shoulders touched. Will looked over the room then glanced up at Mike, a warm smile playing across his mouth.

“It’s good to have everyone together again,” Will said.

“Like old times,” Mike murmured.

Will nodded, and Mike returned his smile. “Yeah. I mean… It’s not what we planned. And it’s different from what it used to be. But nothing’s the same anymore.”

“Yeah,” Mike replied quietly, thinking of their argument in June. “But… That doesn’t mean some things can’t be the same.”

“It’s like what you said this morning,” Will said, “we’ll always have D&D.”

Grinning, Mike felt his expression soften the longer he and Will looked at each other. “Even when we’re old and wrinkly.”

“Especially then.” Will stifled a laugh. “We could be the oldest surviving Party.”

“We could use our walking sticks to beat enemies. Cast spells on our dentures.”

“Our special ability is complaining that no one calls us except at Christmas.”

“Instead of healing potions, we’ll just take a nap.”

Will barked out a laugh, and Mike’s grin broadened.

“Hey, you two!” They looked over at Lucas, who waved Max’s character sheet at them. “Problem solved. Are we campaigning, or what?”

“Finally!” Mike pushed off from the wall and marched over to snatch the sheet away. He scanned it. Reluctantly, he said, “Everything seems to be in order.”

“What did you pick?” Will bumped against Mike and took the sheet from him. Their proximity made Mike’s skin prickle. “Oh, cool, a rogue! That’s such a good class, Max.”

“Is it?” Max was aiming for careless but sounded pleased.

“Definitely,” Will replied, and Mike said, “We haven’t had a rogue before. It’ll be a steep learning curve.”

Max shot him a sarcastic smile. “And I’ll be sure to ask your advice at every turn.”

“We’re ready too,” Dustin announced. They all looked over at the table: Dustin had El’s character sheet in hand; El looked mildly shell-shocked. Catching Mike’s eye, she surreptitiously shrugged.

“Did you even _ask_ El what she wanted?” Stalking over to Dustin, Mike grabbed the sheet. “I bet you just assigned skills randomly.”

Offended, Dustin said, “I did not! Tell him, El.”

Leaf-brown eyes turned to Mike. El shrugged again and made a _Whatever he says_ expression. “I am a mage?”

“Mages are cool,” Mike replied suspiciously, handing the sheet back to Dustin.

Pointedly, Max asked, “Did you _want_ to be a mage?” When El shrugged again, looking uncomfortable, Max stood up. “If you’re just going to force us into boxes, we’re not going to play.”

“No one’s forcing you into anything!” Mike said, exasperated, as Lucas said, “Woah, rogues are a brand-new class, and you’re mad about that?”

“I’m not mad about anything,” Max replied. “But if El doesn’t get to choose her own freaking character, what’s even the point?”

“Dustin was helping her,” Will pointed out. Dustin nodded fiercely.

“A mage fits perfectly!” he added. “Plus, I made sure to vary her abilities. We don’t have a necromancer. It would be useful as hell.”

“Mike can cast Death Ward,” Will objected. Mike motioned gratefully at him: “Thank you!”

“Death Ward is the literal _opposite_ of Grim Harvest,” Lucas said. “El does have Grim Harvest, doesn’t she?”

Dustin threw him an unimpressed look. “I’m not an idiot, Sinclair.”

“What is nero-mance?” El asked, looking between Dustin, Mike, and Lucas, her brows drawn together. “I thought I was a mage.”

“Necromancer,” Dustin corrected. “It’s really cool. It means you manipulate life energies. You can do death magic and stuff.”

El looked unnerved. “Death magic?”

“Yeah, you can bring things back from the dead.”

“It’s not real,” Mike added quickly, noticing El’s darkening expression.

Max shot him a withering look. “Duh, she _knows_ it’s not real.”

“Excuse me,” El said quietly, and pushed to her feet. They all watched as she thumped up the stairs and slammed the door behind her.

As one, the Party realised the implication their discussion. Dustin took off his cap and muttered, “Shit.” Mike and Will traded a look. Only Lucas said, “What’s up with her?”

Max gave him one of her best _Are you stupid?_ looks.

There was an uncomfortable silence. Mike felt the pressure mount. Then he threw up his hands, said, “Don’t all get up at once,” and followed El upstairs.

Frowning as he searched the rooms, Mike couldn’t help but wonder why Max wasn’t the one up here instead of him. Though… _Talk to her,_ she’d said, and yeah, okay, Mike hadn’t exactly added that to his priority list, but he was _getting there._ He’d figured they would talk when the time was right. And preferably not when El was upset. Mike had seen her psychically throw a stuffed toy at Hopper enough times to know that El didn’t have a great grip on her temper.

Feeling belligerent yet increasingly anxious at the prospect of talking to El, Mike eventually wandered out into the backyard. El was standing outside with her back to the house. The shade of a sprawling birch tree cast her in shadow. As Mike closed the sliding door behind him, El turned around. When she saw who it was, she frowned.

_Good start,_ Mike thought grimly.

Feeling gawkier than he had in a while, Mike closed the distance between them. When he came beside her, El stepped away and turned to face him. Her expression was largely unreadable, but there was a flicker of sadness in her eyes.

“Hi,” Mike said awkwardly. “Are you… Well, you’re obviously not fine, but –”

El crossed her arms. “Why is that obvious?”

After a brief pause, Mike said: “Because you came out here instead of starting the campaign?”

“I don’t want to play,” El replied, looking away.

“That’s okay. You can just watch Max.”

“Why death magic?” Her voice threatened to wobble. “Why am I a mage?”

“Because you do magic,” Mike stammered. His heart sunk when El blinked and frowned, her lower lip pinching with hidden emotion. “Like, you have powers... We made you our mage last year – unofficially, I mean. I thought I told you…” Could he dig this hole any deeper? Mike sighed. “I sorry. It was insensitive to decide all that without asking you first.”

“ _Death_ magic, Mike,” El said, and Mike muttered, “Yeah, I know, I don’t… know where that came from.”

Shoving his hands in the pockets of his shorts, Mike ducked his head pretended to study the toes of his Converse. Suddenly, he realised this really was the first time they’d been alone together since Starcourt. Since Hopper.

Just as Mike said, “Hey, El,” and looked up, El said: “Are we still friends?”

Mike blinked. “What?”

A warm breeze stirred the curls around El’s oval face. She continued to frown, although she no longer looked reproachful.

“We did a truce,” El explained. “But you haven’t talked to me. Why not?”

“Uh…”

“I dump your ass, but you can still talk to me, Mike.” El raised her eyebrows in a Max-like way. “I’m not an alien.”

“I know you’re not an alien,” Mike retorted, aiming for jovial but coming across defensive. As El continued to look at him, Mike felt his face and neck redden. He stalled, then added: “I just… I figured you’d want space. After Hopper –”

El winced. Mike grimaced. “Crap, I’m sorry. Again. What I mean is – Well, you have Max now. I thought you’d prefer to talk to her about all that stuff.”

“ _We_ used to talk,” El pointed out.

“We did,” Mike said slowly, although he mainly remembered them talking about how much they liked each other. In fact, he remembered them talking even less once they discovered kissing.

Frowning, El said, “You’ve been avoiding me.”

“I haven’t!” Lowering his voice, Mike tried to steady himself. “Eleven. I promise, I haven’t been avoiding you. I’ve – had things on my mind. That’s all.”

“What things?”

Mike flushed. “Nothing.” Discomfort prickled the back of his neck. _She can’t read minds,_ Mike reminded himself. He’d know by now if she could.

Mike took a deep breath. “Listen. I’m sorry if it seems I’m been ignoring you. I’ve just been really busy.”

Sweat gathered in Mike’s armpits; he hoped El couldn’t see the tension in his jaw, or how hard he’d clenched his fists in his pockets. Without meaning to, Mike remembered the feeling of Will’s cool, damp fingers as he checked Mike’s pulse, and Mike had to swallow hard against the lump that rose in his throat.

El’s brown eyes searched his. Then she nodded. “Okay.”

Mike let go of the breath he didn’t know he was holding. “Okay?”

A small smile gathered in the corner of El’s mouth. “Yes,” she replied. “But Mike… can we talk again? Like friends?”

Lingering affection made him smile. “Of course,” he replied apologetically. “I’m sorry I’ve been a dumbass.”

“A real mouth breather,” El added drily, and Mike rolled his eyes at himself: “Yeah, this summer hasn’t been my finest moment.”

El laughed softly. Although the tension had dissipated, Mike didn’t want to return to the others just yet. He walked past El and sat down on the grass, sprawling out in the shade. El joined him, crossed her legs, and promptly began picking some daisies. Squinting in the glare, Mike watched as she began to make a daisy chain. She poked her tongue out between her teeth to concentrate.

“Did Max teach you that?” Mike asked.

El nodded, eyes glued to her task. He added: “She teach you a lot of things?”

“She’s teaching me to skateboard. It’s harder than it looks.”

Mike recalled that afternoon in the school gym when Max skated circles around him and shot him haughty looks over her shoulder. _Oh, yeah? If this is so easy, why don’t you try it?_

“It doesn’t look that hard,” Mike remarked stubbornly, and El looked up at him with raised eyebrows.

“Sure.” Had she been hanging out with Erica too? “Whatever you say.”

Mike stuck his tongue out at her and she laughed. El continued her daisy chain. Mike noticed she still wore that blue band on her wrist, although it was looking tattier around the edges than the last he saw it. Hadn’t Hopper given it to her, or something?

“You’ve been with Max a lot this summer,” Mike commented. As soon as he said it, he realised for the first time that he wasn’t jealous anymore.

El smiled to herself, still focused on threading the daisy stems together. “Yes. She’s my Will.”

Thinking he’d misheard, Mike said, “Yeah, your friend.”

“No.” El shook her head and glanced up. “My Will. Like how Will is to you.”

“I don’t think you… As in – Sorry, what do you mean?”

“She’s my best friend,” El enunciated.

“Oh, right!” Scratching the back of his head, Mike elected to ignore the strange feeling in his stomach. “Definitely. For sure. Best friends all ‘round.”

A comfortable quiet settled over them. Some neighbour started their lawnmower; a group of laughing kids biked past the house. Mike closed his eyes and tipped his head back. The air was hot and smelled vaguely like sunblock and something floral – maybe El was wearing perfume. Had she worn perfume when they were together? Mike couldn’t remember.

After a few minutes, El nudged him, and he rolled over to find a daisy chain in his face.

“For you,” she announced happily.

“It looks great, El.” Mike pushed himself into a sitting position and shot her a smile. “Thanks, but guys don’t wear flowers.”

A furrow appeared between her eyebrows. “Why not?”

Mike struggled for a moment. Eventually, he settled for: “They just don’t.”

Looking supremely unimpressed, El put the daisy chain around her neck. “I think you’d look nice.”

“Maybe,” Mike replied, sounding more cheerful than he felt. The notion of wearing the daisy chain made him feel peculiar. Getting to his feet before she asked again, Mike made a show of brushing the grass off his clothes. He wordlessly held out a hand and she accepted it to help herself up.

Once they were at a level height, Mike made to let go of her hand, but El pulled it back. Something like panic tightened in his chest. She stared directly at him for a long moment. Then, she let go.

“I still like you, Mike,” El said.

Wait, what? “As friends?”

El smirked and he frowned. When she turned and started back across the yard, Mike remained in place, looking after her in confusion.

“Wait!” She couldn’t mean anything else – could she? “El! Do you mean as friends? Wait!”

Pausing with one hand on the sliding door, El looked over her shoulder.

“Mike.” She raised her eyebrows. “Relax.” Then she opened the door and disappeared inside.

Mike stared after her, feeling dumb as a mountain troll.

He would never, for as long as he lived, understand girls.


	17. Chapter 17

Later that evening found Mike up in his bedroom, sprawled out on the bed on his stomach, a book open and inches from his beaky nose. He’d hauled the tape-deck up from the basement and it was on his desk. He’d picked a Tangerine Dream cassette at random and now it filled the humid air with strange, slightly melancholic instrumental music. The windows were thrown open to coax a breeze, but Mike had stripped down to his underwear and an old shirt of his dad’s ( _Hawkins Golf Club Est. 1952_ ) and still felt overheated.

It was either the hot, dark evening, or the contents of the _Watchtower_.

Instead of being a teenaged boy in Indiana, Mike felt the cold air atop Torper Keep. Petals of snow drifted past the tower’s arrow slits, swirling dizzily in the miserable winter night. Fire leaped in the brackets on the wall, which cast tangled shadows over the flagstone floor. Ryke and Errel sat facing each other, hoping that none of the arl’s men would find them here alone, together…

_He and Errel had arranged a way to meet; signalling to each other by means of a token, which passed from one to the other of them as if it were a love sign…_

Mike drank in the sentence. _As if it were a love sign._ In a book written so sparsely, for Ryke was a soldier and used to plain language, the analogy seemed to glow on the page. _A love sign._

_It’s different,_ Will had said, and when Mike asked how, he flushed. _It just is._

Sweat gathered in his armpits. Mike’s pulse thumped headily in his throat.

Was this what Will warned him about? But Ryke and Errel weren’t… Ryke was destined to protect prince Errel, the only survivor of his legacy. That didn’t mean Ryke felt anything other than devotion to his prince… It was just a deep friendship. _Like brothers,_ his mind supplied.

Mike lowered the book.

Moving slowly, as if in a dream, Mike rolled over onto his back. He held the open book to his chest and rested his clammy hands on it. The ceiling was dotted with glow-in-the-dark stars, remnants of the weekend he first saw _Star Wars_ and dreamed of becoming a Resistance pilot. Mike wanted them to seem shabby, childish; but he liked them now as much as he did when he was seven years old.

A year after that, the Party discovered D&D. Mike couldn’t remember who first introduced the others. What he did remember were the afternoons and nights that followed, when he and Will would stay up after Dustin and Lucas went home. They quizzed each other on rules and earnestly debated lore and daydreamed about their heroes.

_I want to be a knight,_ Mike remembered saying, and Will had smiled at him. _Then I’ll be your mage!_

A vision of El from that afternoon sifted to the front of his mind. El, eyes wide and confused, looking up at him. _I thought I was a mage?_

Mike suddenly scrunched up his face and pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes.

_I still like you, Mike._

Why had El said that? Did she mean it? Or was it some kind of stupid joke Max had put her up to? Mike focused on the phosphenes that patterned beneath his closed eyelids. Frustration simmered through him. _Mike. Relax._ How could he when she kept playing games? I like you, I dump your ass. Which was it? Because the less certain he felt about El, the more certain he felt about –

“Don’t even think it,” Mike whispered hoarsely to himself. But the name filtered through to him anyway.

His chest suddenly hurt with the desire to be with Will. Mike could imagine him clearly: sitting cross-legged on the bed, leaning against the headboard, excitedly dissecting the start of their campaign. Mike knew they would have noticed the same things: how despite their resistance, it had been a huge success. Max turned out to be a savvy player, besting even Lucas when it came to thoughtfully questioning the NPCs Mike and Will had crafted. Mike and Dustin had helped El, who was less gifted at the game, but her class was so OP it almost didn’t matter. She rolled in the high teens at every skill check, causing Dustin to crow with pride and Mike to exclaim his support. El, wearing her daisy chain and blushing happily, seemed to glow under their attention.

Mike could see Will in his bedroom so vividly that he abruptly opened his eyes and sat up. _Watchtower_ slid into his lap. The cassette clicked, marking the end of side A. Mike stared unseeingly at the headboard for a moment. Then he got up and turned the cassette over.

Mike was watching the reel turn when his radio crackled loudly. There was a blare of static, then Lucas’ voice came through: “…Need you to settle an argument. Mike, you there? Over.”

Shaking himself, Mike picked up the radio and pressed the button. “I’m here. What’s wrong? Over.”

“Nothing’s _wrong,_ ” Lucas replied, and Mike instantly knew he was with Max. “I just need to access your untapped wisdom. Over.”

“Nice flattery,” Mike said drily. “What do you want?”

“You’ll like this, I promise. I need to know who’s right: me or Max. You know those small creatures at the start of _A New Hope_? Over.”

Mike frowned. “Yeah: the Jawas. Over.”

The radio crackled with cheers. Mike heard Max make an indistinct retort; Lucas laughed. The radio reconnected, and Lucas said, “So, just to be clear, those dudes aren’t the same as the furry things in _Return of the Jedi_?”

“The _Ewoks_?” Mike asked indignantly. “No. They’re, like, a completely different species. Why are you asking me this? Over.”

“Like I said,” Lucas replied, “you’re settling an argument. And you just made me five bucks. Thanks, man.” Max said something in the background, and Lucas added: “No way. Mike just said what I said. Fair’s fair, _Maxine_.”

The sound of Lucas and Max squabbling made Mike smile to himself. “You two are so weird,” he said. “I’m going. See you later. Over.”

“Thanks, Mike. Over.”

Lowering the radio slowly, Mike’s smile faded. His anxiety, which had abated during their conversation, trickled back through him. He looked over at the empty bed.

Even when he and El were together, they hadn’t talked like Lucas and Max did. Okay, Lucas and Max were hardly couple of the century: they broke up regularly, argued, and Max’s front of a long-suffering girlfriend was so convincing, Mike often forgot about the good parts of their relationship. Like how easy it seemed, and how happy Lucas was. They made each other laugh more than anyone else.

All Mike and El had done was kiss. They took breaks to tease Hopper, and occasionally to suffer seeing the others before the urge to kiss overtook them again. There had only been a handful of times when El had confided in him, like about her mother, and how it felt closing the gate. Thinking back on it, Mike hadn’t told El much in return. He’d mainly been interested in _her_. Despite what he’d said earlier, she _was_ kind of an alien.

And she liked him. That was a bonus.

Obviously, Lucas and Max cared about each other. But they did more than kiss. They were friends. It was like Mike and El had skipped the friendship part and gone straight to the other end of the spectrum.

Mike put the radio down on the desk and went over to his bed. Sinking back onto it, he lay down and propped his feet up on the headboard. He resumed staring at the ceiling.

There was only one person Mike felt that close to. And Will was the one person he could never kiss.

A familiar tide of unhappiness welled within him. Mike closed his eyes for one long moment before reaching for _Watchtower_ again. But glancing at the page and seeing the name _Errel_ made him groan aloud, and he dropped the book back onto his chest.

Mike knew that he and Will would never, _could_ never, be anything more than friends. Will was normal: he liked girls. But Mike couldn’t help pressing a finger to that deep, painful bruise that quietly wondered what might happen if Mike was brave enough to look Will in the eye and do what he wanted to, so badly. In the basement during a storm. This afternoon, in Will’s bedroom. A cool hand resting against Mike’s neck. Will’s eyes that darkened the longer they watched each other. How his mouth parted. How Mike helplessly followed the movement, wondering…

Suddenly nervous, Mike glanced over at his closed bedroom door. He fought with himself. Then he got up, locked the door, and returned to his bed. Laying back down, Mike closed his eyes.

He was in Will’s bedroom. Orange sunlight dappled the scene: the pictures tacked onto the walls, the binder of D&D illustrations on the bed between them; and Will, sitting cross-legged, elbows resting on his knees. Fine brown hair fell smoothly around his face, which was starting to grow angular, with sharper cheekbones and a stronger jaw. Will’s rounded, Roman nose; the small birthmark beneath one nostril. His eyebrows arching in pleasant surprise. Will’s mouth was soft and full, chapped where he bit it. A teasing smirk started in the corner and unfurled along his lips until Will was smiling in that faintly bemused way he had. _Mike?_ he’d ask. _Are you okay?_ And Mike would drag his eyes up to Will’s, which were dark as onyx and framed with thick eyelashes. And then Mike might say, _I have something to tell you,_ and Will would frown, instantly concerned. _Is anything wrong?_

And Mike would say, _No, for once everything’s right,_ and Will’s face would come closer and closer, and then…

A battery of knocks sounded on the door. “Mike! Are you in there?”

Mike bolted upright; his heart thundered. When the knocks came again, he yelled, “I’m busy!”

“Dinner’s ready!” He could almost see his mom with her hands on her hips. “And please do not talk to me in that tone of voice! Wash your hands and get down here, Michael.”

Mike groaned loudly and flopped back onto the bed. His mom’s footsteps retreated down the hall and started down the stairs. Squeezing his eyes closed, he tried to summon Will again: how his breath might hitch before he opened his mouth to Mike. The imagined taste of Will’s tongue.

Mike opened his eyes and stared blindly at the ceiling. Though it had disappeared the instant his mom knocked on the door, his groin had tightened disconcertingly over the past few minutes.

“Stupid,” Mike muttered to himself. As he got up and picked up his shorts from the floor, _Watchtower_ slid off the bed. Mike yanked on his shorts and frowned at the book. Then he picked it up and carefully dogeared the page he’d left off on.

Will could have leant the book to Mike for any number of reasons. The fact it had characters like Errel and Ryke in it could mean anything.

But Mike knew that his black scribble was growing darker and darker every day. And every time, it was because of Will.


	18. Chapter 18

School was hurtling towards the Party with uncanny speed. At one moment they were safely ensconced in July, with limitless time stretching between _today_ and _tomorrow._ The days blurred into a sticky, sweaty maze: biking to Mike’s house, the air-conditioned basement, more movies, jumping off rocks at the quarry and plunging into the pristine blue water. The next thing he knew it was August, and Mike’s mom started going on even more about his hair.

_Seriously, Mike, this is not up for debate,_ she said over breakfast one morning. Mike, by some minor miracle, was up at the same time as his dad, who had work. _You need a trim. People will think I’ve abandoned you._

When Mike had pleaded his case, his dad had looked up from the newspaper and said, _You look like a hippie, son._

Mike scowled and looked away, but not before he caught a glimpse of the headline: _AIDS CASES TOP 12,000._

The weather started to shift. It had gone from sultry, deep-fried egg afternoons to skulking evenings that simmered with heat. The threat of rain was constant: at least once a week the storm clouds gathered, usually when they were together playing D&D, and the torrent would unleash, soaking yellow lawns and causing the community pool to overflow. The breeze grew cooler: jeans substituted shorts, and Will began wearing one of Jonathan’s old flannel long-sleeved shirts over a t-shirt, the cuffs rolled up around his bony elbows. It remained humid, although the days weren’t as insufferable as they had been all summer. The tide was changing.

Mike finished _Watchtower_ somewhere in the middle of their campaign. He was disappointed, but not for any reason he’d openly admit. There had been two women who were blatantly together, like a normal couple. But Errel and Ryke hadn’t done anything besides stare at each other, although there were a few telling passages where Ryke ruminated on Errel’s enigmatic good looks. It was frustrating for reasons Mike could only articulate to himself, in private.

Though he’d finished the book, he’d yet to return it to Will. A new daydream accompanied the one set in the bedroom. In this, Mike handed the book back and boldly asked Will why he’d lent it to him. Once Will knew what the undertone of the story was, why hadn’t he hidden it? Why give it to Mike? That’s what he would have done. Then again, Will didn’t have a reason to hide the book.

The Party completed the campaign at the end of the first week of August. Just as Will planned, the Party sought vengeance on the goblin king and his army and destroyed them in a brutal battle deep in the mountain caves. Afterwards, Max looked so thrilled that Lucas said, “You a convert yet?”

She punched him on the shoulder, but they knew the truth.

Surprisingly, El was the least interested in the game. Although Dustin and Mike coached her through it, suggesting moves and then outright directing what she should do, El started to look vaguely distressed, and when they at last celebrated victory, her cheers were the weakest.

Maybe Mike should talk to her and find out why she seemed to dislike D&D. He could do it. Anytime, he could radio her and ask. He should. He would. Maybe next week.


	19. Chapter 19

On the tenth of August, the Saturday before school started, Mike waited outside the cinema for Will.

There was a community barbeque happening in the park a few blocks away: Mike heard the loud music and the laughter of Hawkins locals; a thin stream of cooking smoke trailed over the rooftops. His parents were there with Holly. The Party had talked about going together, but Mike had conjured up an excuse for him and Will. As he fidgeted against the brick wall, glancing up and down the street, he half-feared Dustin or Lucas might see him and figure he’d lied. Or – even worse – Max and El would skate by and report back to the others (Max had received a new board for her birthday, so El got her hand-me-down one; they skated everywhere now, never apart, winding around one another and high-fiving whenever Max made a joke). Now that the campaign was over, Max and El were glued together.

With school looming, the question of El and school had come up. Will told Mike that his mom was at a loss. Mike had suggested they pretend El was a distant Byers cousin, which to him seemed plausible: Will and El looked uncannily alike. But Hawkins was a small town, and Mrs Byers had grown up here. Someone might have questions – the last thing any of them needed was a nosy, well-meaning neighbour poking around.

The lavender evening sky was shot through with orange. A passing sun shower earlier that afternoon had swept Hawkins clean: the warm air was slightly humid, and the pavement remained damp. As the sun now slipped beneath the horizon, Mike breathed in the smell of meat on the grill, firecrackers, and sweet-sharp petrichor.

He glanced down at his watch: a quarter to six. If Will didn’t get here soon, the previews would start without them. Biting his lip and glancing once more up the street, Mike elected to grab their tickets before Will arrived.

A gaggle of girls lingered in front of the swing doors, giggling to each other and talking loudly like a flock of tropical birds. Mike grimaced and elbowed his way through, muttering his excuses, and the girls parted reluctantly.

The foyer was moderately full. Popcorn kernels littered the red carpet. Groups of kids his age hung around, no doubt waiting for their friends or hoping to scoot through to the movie before the theatre doors closed. The yellow sign behind the refreshments stand showed the billing. At the very top, bookended by stars, was _NOW SHOWING! Fright Night – 6:00 PM!_

Mike approached the counter, looking around nonchalantly. The guy with the dark hair and the tight uniform shirt wasn’t in sight. Disappointed, Mike leaned against the counter and waited. On his right was another teenage staff member, who was handing a couple a bucket of popcorn and some drinks. Mike surveyed the refreshments, mentally counting how much change he had on him. When a figure straightened up from behind the counter, cursing under their breath, Mike looked at them.

It wasn’t Steve; it was his girlfriend.

“Damn it,” Robin muttered, shaking her wet hands. Mike peered behind the counter: a puddle of Coke seeped out from beneath the drinks machine. “Jeez,” she continued. “That’s great. Just great.” And then, when she met Mike’s deadpan expression, she said, “Oh, it’s you.”

Mike raised his eyebrows. “Where’s Steve?”

“Steve,” Robin said slowly, drawing out his name like gum. She found a cloth and wiped her hands, stepping gingerly over the puddle until she drew level to the cash register. “Is not… working tonight. I am, though. What can I get you?”

 _Crap_. No Steve? Mike frowned. “Is he working, like, at _all_ tonight? I need to talk to him.”

Robin looked at him sharply. “Is something wrong?”

Mike’s frown deepened. “No,” he replied. “Why would anything be wrong?”

Letting out a strangled laugh, Robin closed her eyes and rubbed the side of her forehead with one sticky hand. “Oh, you know. No reason. It’s just unfortunate that this summer of fun has come to such an abrupt end.” Smirking to herself, she lowered her hand and refocused on Mike, one eyebrow cocked. “Sorry, my child friend. Steve is probably at his house, listening to Bruce Springsteen and drinking beer. In other words, he is tasting true American freedom while I work minimum wage.”

Blinking, Mike buried a laugh with another frown. “Right. Well…” Robin must be cool if Steve liked her, or was dating her, or whatever they were doing. There was no harm in asking. Mike crossed his arms on the counter and leaned closer. In an undertone, he said, “The thing is, Steve was… sort of going to get me free tickets. But if he’s not here, I mean, you could always…”

Robin’s expression gave nothing away. “Free tickets?” she repeated, not bothering to lower her voice. “Wheeler Junior, are you trying to get me fired?”

Mike shushed her. “Not fired! Totally not fired. Just – a gift. One monster slayer to another.”

Robin’s other eyebrow joined the first. “I didn’t slay anything,” she pointed out. “I did, however, listen to Peewee Herman and his girlfriend sing a lullaby to each other, which was at once terrifying and strangely enjoyable.”

“His name is Dustin,” Mike corrected, and Robin said, “I know, but Peewee just suits him so much better.”

Robin glanced at her co-worker, who was serving a different customer and was entirely absorbed in a conversation about the weather. Robin pursed her lips and slid her eyes back to Mike, who quickly adopted his most innocent expression. She wrinkled her nose.

“Ugh, stop. You look like Andy Kaufman. Okay.” As Mike opened his mouth, Robin held up a finger. “Just this once. I don’t want to get the same reputation Steve has.”

“Steve’s cool!”

“He’s a total doormat,” Robin retorted. “But, yes, he is cool. What do you want to see?”

Mike grinned. “ _Fright Night._ Two tickets,” he added as she started punching buttons into the till. “Thanks. I’m actually – It’s a surprise. For my friend.”

Robin glanced up as the till sprang open.

“Horror movies are his _favourite_ ,” Mike continued enthusiastically. “And I was such a jerk to him this summer. Well, I was more of an asshole. So, this is me making it up to him…” Realising he sounded way too psyched to see a ‘friend’, Mike lapsed into awkward silence.

Robin watched him for a moment, her eyes narrowed. Then she tore two ticket stubs free, handed them to him, and wordlessly turned around and filled two buckets of popcorn. Embarrassed, Mike watched her beneath his fringe as she filled two extra-large soda cups, stabbed them with straws, and pushed the lot over the counter to him.

Robin leaned on the counter and tilted her chin up, regarding him with a cool, peaceable expression that Mike found impossible to read.

“That’s really nice of you, Mike,” Robin said guardedly. “I wish someone liked me enough to do that.”

Flustered, Mike managed: “But you have Steve.”

Robin raised her eyebrows in a _That’s true_ look. “Steve’s a good friend,” she said instead, and Mike frowned in confusion.

Just as he opened his mouth again, Robin’s eyes focused on something over his shoulder. “Hey,” she said, glancing at him and motioning with her chin. “Isn’t that your little friend outside?”

Mike sped around. Beyond the glass doors stood Will, his back to the theatre, looking up and down the street. He wore another oversized t-shirt tucked into a pair of Jonathan’s old jeans, although he was skinnier than his brother and had to wear a belt. As Mike watched, Will nervously tucked some hair behind his ear. He kept glancing at the group of girls, who were shooting him looks and whispering to each other. Will shifted his weight and pretended to ignore them.

Mike’s pulse skipped. He quickly turned back and, stuffing the tickets in his shorts pocket, grabbed the popcorn buckets and managed to balance the drinks between his hands. Shooting Robin a grin that was intended for Will, he enthused, “Thanks so much! I owe you one, seriously.”

A slow smile spread across Robin’s mouth, her eyes darting between him and Will. “That’s okay,” she replied, sounding pleased. “Jeez, if only I knew the power contained in some shitty movie snacks.”

Mike shot her a bemused look, said, “See you around,” gathered up their food, and crossed the foyer. He kicked on the glass to get Will’s attention, whose puzzled expression shifted into one of delight once he turned around. Will hurried through the front doors and into the foyer. Once he and Mike were facing each other, Will grinned.

“Hey!” Will’s eyes sparked. He took in the popcorn and drinks, then returned to Mike’s gaze. “What’s all this?”

“Surprise!” Mike handed Will a bucket, drink, and fished around until he retrieved one of the ticket stubs, which he held up and proclaimed: “Phase three is complete!”

Will was stifling a laugh. “‘Phase three’?”

“Yeah.” Mike affected nonchalance and shrugged. “It’s been my summer plan. Phase one, apologise. Phase two, campaign. Phase three…”

“A secret movie?” Will guessed.

“Kind of,” Mike replied. Heat prickled his neck. Suddenly bashful, he glanced down at his popcorn to steel himself, then looked up at Will’s quizzical dark eyes. “Phase three is a thank you. For redeeming the summer. And for being – for just being you, Will.”

Something flickered in Will’s eyes. “You didn’t have to do this, Mike.”

“I wanted to,” Mike insisted. “This summer would be nothing without you. I was so stupid, but you forgave me even though you had every right not to. I wanted you to know how much that meant to me.”

They watched each other for a long moment. Then, slowly, Mike became aware of their surroundings: the chatter of patrons, theatre doors opening, the popcorn machine whirring. Will’s inward-looking expression made Mike fleetingly wonder if his whole ‘phase three’ thing was a bit… dramatic.

But then Will started to smile, and Mike broke into a relieved grin.

“I can’t believe you planned a three-phase apology,” Will said softly.

“I had to!” Mike replied, still grinning. “This is important. I wasn’t going to half-ass it.”

The crowd in the foyer swelled. Mike tore himself from Will to glance at his watch: it was six o’clock. He looked up and said, “Okay, I’m shutting up now. We should go, or we’re going to miss your surprise.”

They started weaving through the crowd together. As they passed the counter, Mike caught Robin’s eye: she threw him a _You got this_ look over a customer’s shoulder. Taking care to stay close to Will, Mike continued towards the theatre entrance.

“What is my surprise, anyway?” Will asked as they bumped shoulders. Mike slurped innocently on his drink; Will rolled his eyes. “Fine!” He pretended to be exasperated. “You know, you and Max are more alike than you’ll ever know.”

Mike snorted Coke up his nose. Will laughed at his spluttering.

Still coughing as they entered the theatre, Mike could only blindly follow Will as he slipped through the crowd. In unison, they turned into the middle row and inched across it, dropping into the same seats they’d claimed a few dozen times before.

Will shot him a sly smile in the semi-darkness. “Have you recovered?”

“Barely,” Mike replied, exaggerating his hoarse voice. They shared a teasing look.

As they settled in their seats, Will said, “So, what are we seeing? Is it _Legend_? Or a rerun of _Day of the Dead_?”

And because Mike couldn’t resist Will’s eager look, he admitted: “It’s _Fright Night._ ”

“Woah, really? Mike!” Will wasn’t the type to punch the air, but his grin broadened. “This is so cool! Thank you. Oh my God, I’ve wanted to see this so bad.”

Feeling extremely pleased with himself, Mike added, “And it only got released last week.”

“This is incredible. Thanks, Mike.” After a beat, Will said, “Wait, how much was all this? I thought your parents weren’t giving you an allowance anymore?”

This was, unfortunately, true. After Mike put on a fatuous show of resisting the hairdresser, his father had – for once – put his foot down. Apparently, Mike was getting too old for ‘running around with friends’ and once he turned fifteen, the expectation was that he found a part-time job. This seemed draconian even to Nancy: though she’d babysat since she was twelve, she only got her first job tutoring in sophomore year. But Mike’s dad was determined to make a point. Mike suspected it was less about discipline as it was about expectation: Nancy was a girl, so naturally she didn’t have to work. Mike, however, was the man of the house when his father wasn’t around. _It’s time you learned something,_ Mr Wheeler had rumbled through a mouthful of mashed potato. _Earned some responsibility. When I was your age…_ Blah, blah, blah.

“The whole thing’s bogus,” Mike said, disgruntled. “I know my mom agrees with me, but she won’t go against my dad. Whatever he says, goes.”

“A lot of fifteen-year-olds get jobs,” Will replied unconvincingly. “I think Pete Myers started mopping the floor at Melvald’s when he was, like, our age.”

“It’s still bogus.” Digging through the popcorn and surfacing with a bulging handful, Mike said, “And don’t worry about it. Robin spotted us.”

Will said, “Robin?” and Mike nodded as he chewed. “I didn’t know she worked here too.”

“Maybe the theatre transferred everyone after the fire,” Mike guessed. “Whatever happened, she’s here. She’s actually kind of cool. She gave us the snacks free too.”

Will looked down at his popcorn and drinks as Mike tossed kernels into the air and tried to catch them in his mouth. “We should pay her back,” Will murmured.

“What?” Popcorn scattered over the floor; some girls Nancy’s age turned around in their seats and glared at him. Mike mimed an apology before turning to Will. “No, she gave them to us,” he said, frowning. “It’s no big deal. It’s just like when Steve used to let us use the employee entrance in Starcourt, remember?”

“I guess,” Will said, though he sounded doubtful. As he ate some popcorn, Mike gently nudged him. Large dark eyes turned to him.

“How about I ask her after the show?” Mike said quietly. “It’d suck if she got fired. I’ll ask if she wants me to pay for the snacks and the tickets. Would that make you feel better?”

As Will hesitated, Mike added, “I’m not just saying that. Seriously, I’ll ask her.”

“I don’t want to ruin anything.” Will looked up from his bucket and glanced at Mike before his eyes flitted to the blank screen.

“You won’t be. Hey.” Nudging him again, Mike smiled when their eyes met. “No big deal. I don’t want you to worry.”

A smile softened Will’s tense mouth. “Thanks, Mike. Sorry. I know it’s a stupid thing to get hung up on.”

“No,” Mike replied earnestly. “It’s not.”

“It’s just… When Jonathan worked at the burger place – you know, the one downtown? Well, one night when he was on late shift, a few guys from school came in. I don’t think Jonathan knew them. Not really. They saw each other around. But they came in, acting like they were friends. And Jonathan couldn’t exactly tell them to –” Will motioned with one hand, and Mike nodded in understanding. “To like, go away. So, they asked for all this food. And Jonathan couldn’t do anything, even though he realised these guys were being assholes. They left without paying. Afterwards, Jonathan’s boss said the food would have to come out of _his_ paycheck.” Mouth twisting, Will ducked his head and frowned at the popcorn. “Sorry. I don’t know why I told you such a weird story.”

“It’s not weird.” Will might worry about things that, to a lot of people, didn’t matter, but at the core of it was Will’s good heart. He cared about others; it was one of the many things Mike liked about him. It was a natural empathy and fairness that the Party occasionally misread as oversensitivity – it wasn’t. Will was sensitive, but he wasn’t weak like people thought. He wanted everyone to feel safe and happy. Sometimes, Mike wondered if it was because Will so often felt neither of those things.

In the warm, dark gloom of the theatre, Will’s proximity was heightened: his arm as it lay on the armrest; the sleeve of his t-shirt; even his face, which turned towards Mike and was barely thirty centimetres away. As the lights started to dim, Mike could just make out Will’s eyebrow, the side of his mouth, one dark eye. Cold blue light bloomed onscreen, casting half of Will’s face in sharp relief.

“Really,” Mike heard himself say. “It’s not weird. I’ll talk to Robin after the show.”

The previews started to play. A wolf howled; upbeat music flooded the theatre. As the voiceover said, _For Michael J. Fox, life hasn’t been easy,_ Will’s left cheek dimpled as he smiled at Mike.

“Thanks,” he replied softly. “I knew you’d get it.”

A flush of heat made Mike duck his head, shrug, and pretend to immerse himself with his popcorn bucket. As one, they shifted in their seats until they faced the screen. Something heady twisted in Mike’s stomach when he saw Marty McFly, who grimaced and said, _I’m going through some… changes._

They watched the preview for _Teen Wolf._ Mike mainly focused on Michael J. Fox, whose floppy-haired, wide-eyed look made his stomach stir disconcertingly. Once the preview was over, Will leaned into his side and murmured: “We should go see that.”

Did Will mean that they should see it with the others, or just them? Mike glanced at Will and was startled to find just how close Will’s face was to his.

“Yeah,” Mike replied. He nodded gently. “That sounds great.”

Will smiled at him and leaned back. Mike rubbed his lips together, thinking. Then he shifted into Will’s personal space and whispered: “Do you… mean with the rest of the Party?”

Another preview started with an explosion. A frown crossed Will’s face and he turned his head into Mike’s face so his ear was right by Mike’s mouth. Taking that as a hint, Mike repeated his question, though he was only vaguely aware of speaking. Heat radiated from Will’s shoulder and neck; through the sleeve of his t-shirt, which was pressed against Mike’s front, he felt the warmth of Will’s skin and the softness of his clothes. The smell of popcorn mingled with a more overwhelming rush of _Will_ : honey, laundry, soap. Mike closed his eyes briefly and inhaled once, as quickly as he dared.

Then Will was turning his head to reply, and Mike swallowed, suddenly nervous. Cupping a hand around Mike’s ear, Will’s lips brushed his cheek, his ear lobe. Hot waves rippled out from where they touched. Will’s voice, pitched low beneath the sound of the preview, seemed to drip down Mike’s ear and into his chest, where it tangled, warm and fierce, with another, more insistent feeling that they shouldn’t be doing this.

“Maybe just us?” Will whispered, and Mike nodded again. He turned minutely in his seat to look directly into Will’s eyes. An inch separated them. Mike tried to resist looking down – but then his eyes flicked to Will’s mouth, and something crazy gripped him. _I want to – how bad would it be if I…_

“Absolutely,” Mike managed, as strongly as he could in the quiet.

Blue light played over Will’s face, and his dark eyes moved slowly between Mike’s.

“Cool,” Will murmured.

Then, so quickly Mike must have imagined it, those same eyes darted to Mike’s lips.

White-hot longing bloomed in every inch of his body.

“You and me,” Mike confirmed, and Will’s eyelashes stuttered. “Yeah,” he whispered. “Definitely.”

The cinema plunged into darkness. An eerie howl echoed. With difficulty, Mike pulled away from Will and glanced at the screen, which panned down from a full moon to a graveyard as a woman began a monologue.

When Mike looked back, Will was still staring at him. For a split-second Mike thought he glimpsed something familiar in Will’s expression, before he blinked and shot Mike a smile. Will retreated and shifted in his seat to watch the movie. Mike followed suit slowly, sinking back and mechanically reaching into his bucket for some popcorn.

 _Shit,_ he thought. _Shit, shit, shit._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part two will be posted shortly. In the meantime, you can find me on Tumblr [over here.](https://sevensided.tumblr.com/)


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember to find me [over here](https://sevensided.tumblr.com/)!

Part two  
**August 12 – August 18**

* * *

Mike woke early and stared at the ceiling.

For two days he had been entirely preoccupied with what happened on Saturday. The movies, he realised, had become a risky place for him. In the gloomy half-light, Mike felt cocooned, safe. There, he could stare openly with everyone else at Charley Brewster: his floppy dark hair, full lips, quizzical expression. Above all, he could sense, rather than see, how closely Will sat to him, and how their arms brushed together far too often despite a shared armrest. Whenever Mike closed his eyes, he remembered how Will had held his gaze for one long, unwavering second, before his eyes darted like quicksilver to Mike’s mouth.

Mike replayed that moment over and over. And then, later, he let himself wonder as to what might have happened if they were somewhere alone, together, and that voice in the back of his mind was drowned out by the blood pounding in his throat as he leaned in closer, closer, until…

Worst of all, he didn’t know what to _do_ about his frustration. It was pure torment. Mike was torn between the obvious (ignore it) and a burning desire to give in. The images his heated imagination supplied were more exciting, more intense, than anything he had experienced in real life – especially with El.

Remembering El brought on a new feeling: disgust. Not with El, who was lucky she’d dumped such a freak, but with _himself._

Even though it was dark in the movies, and he and Will had gone together a hundred times before, this last time felt… different. It reminded Mike of feeling like someone was staring at him, but when he turned around there was no one there. It was like his black scribble wasn’t imaginary: it had crawled out of his chest and consumed his body. And every strange look someone gave him, every harmless joke or comment, rippled with hidden meaning, because they _knew._ They knew he wasn’t like other guys his age. He wasn’t even different – he was just abnormal.

Mike felt hollow. He pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes. Bedclothes tangled around him; a warm breeze snaked through the open window and trailed along his legs, which were splayed over a bed that was too small.

A heavy, black feeling settled in his brain and pushed against his skin.

 _I still like you, Mike._ Would it be so bad, to go back to El? Could he do it again? Could he kiss her and tune out that persistent, harsh whisper? Could he stand to go to the Byers’ house and walk straight past Will’s bedroom and into El’s, where they would sit on the bed and put on the radio and he would close his eyes and pretend it was what he wanted?

What were people like him _supposed_ to want?

From downstairs came the sound of the morning radio. Mike listened to his mom move around the kitchen – the fridge opening, cutlery clinking – and then his dad as he walked past Mike’s bedroom carrying Holly, who was burbling something about eggs.

Staying in his room all day was a sorely tempting prospect. Instead, Mike summoned what little motivation a restless night had given him and sluggishly got out of bed. When he went into the bathroom and caught sight of himself in the mirror, disgust rose once more within him. Mike forced himself to look away and turn on the shower. Afterwards, he dressed in his usual polo shirt, shorts, and Converse, and went thumping downstairs.

His parents were at the table, with Holly sitting beside his mom, who looked up as Mike slouched into the room. “Well, good morning, sleepyhead. What’s got you up?”

“Dustin’s,” Mike replied, having prepared a lie while he was in the shower. He opened the fridge and squinted for a moment, before closing it and getting a box of cereal from the cupboard. “He invented something at camp and wanted to show me.”

“That sounds nice,” his mom said. His dad turned a page in the newspaper.

The radio was playing some song with a soulful male singer. _Crossing bridges, never burned,_ he crooned. _I am tired of playing hide and seek, yeah…_

Disgruntled, Mike took a seat at the table. “What _is_ this?”

“It’s a new Go West song,” his mom replied, buttering a piece of toast. She glanced pointedly between Mike’s cereal and his tousled, still damp hair. In a light tone of voice, she remarked: “School’s around the corner.”

Mike grunted through a mouthful of Frosties. The headline on his dad’s newspaper was about President Reagan; a knot in his stomach loosened.

His mom caught his eye and raised her eyebrows. “Which means,” she enunciated, “it’s time for a haircut.”

“Not this again!” Mike exclaimed. When his mom lowered the butter knife and gave him her best _Excuse me?_ look, he moderated his tone. “Didn’t we, like, talk about this _just_ the other day?”

“Yes, we did,” she replied archly. “And as I recall, no date or time was set for the barber. So, we’re going later this week.” As Mike opened his mouth to protest, she added, “And no funny business. I’m not going to keep going over on this issue, Mike.”

Rolling his eyes hard enough to hurt his head, Mike reached for a carton of juice. “Fine,” he said, more bitterly than he intended. “Whatever.”

Electing to ignore Mike’s sass, his mom finished buttering her toast and put down the knife. “That reminds me. We need to talk about your classes.”

Mike glanced up from pouring a glass of orange juice. Listlessly, he said, “What about them?”

“You’re entering your freshman year,” his mom reminded him. “It might be useful to start thinking about whether you’ll do your ACT or SAT early. Nancy started prepping for college when she turned fifteen.”

 _College?!_ “Mom, I don’t turn fifteen until _December_!”

“Well, like it or not, you’ll still be a freshman. And it’s smart to think about it early, rather than leave it until the last minute.”

Mike thumped the carton onto the table. He slumped back in his seat and stared at her. His mom noticed his expression and shot him a placating look. “Mike, it’s not the end of the world. Look at your sister. She did her exams twice over just so she could get into Sarah Lawrence.”

Automatically, Mike said, “Yeah, but you’re not going to let her move to New York.”

“That’s beside the point.”

Wrinkling his nose, Mike heard a strain of belligerence enter his tone. “Um, not really, mom. What’s the point of sitting the SATs _twice_ if you won’t even let her go to Sarah Lawrence? Also,” he added impulsively, “who says I want to go to college anyway?”

As one, his parents said, “ _What_?”

His dad lowered his newspaper and looked at Mike as if he’d announced he wanted to start a colony on Mars. His mom’s mouth hung open; she quickly closed it and busied herself with handing toast to Holly, who didn’t have to worry about anything outside of which toy to play with that day, or whether to have a nap.

“This is not up for discussion,” his mom remarked tightly, and his dad said, “Son, what the heck are you talking about?”

Lifting his chin defiantly, Mike crossed his arms and raised his eyebrows. “Like I said. Maybe I don’t want to go to college. Is that a crime?”

“In this household,” his dad said, “yes.”

“You can’t _defer_ college, Michael.” Flustered, his mom pursed her lips and calmed herself with a sip of coffee.

“Pretty sure I can,” Mike replied, warming up to his charade. “In fact, maybe I will. Except I’ll be sure to move far away from here, so I don’t have to deal with this _crap_ anymore.”

As his mom exclaimed, “Language!” his dad reached up to lower his glasses so he could fix Mike with a steely look.

“Son, you are on thin ice already. Don’t die on this hill.”

“Why not?” Mike retorted. “What is _actually_ the point of busting my ass to sit exams so I can get into a college you probably won’t let me move to anyway?”

His parents traded a look.

The taste of bitterness on his tongue, Mike felt heat rise in his neck and face. Anger, true anger, reared its ugly head. “Why should I have to do everything exactly the way you did it? Why do I have to go to college, and get some crummy job, and get married, and be a normal, regular, boring _asshole_?! You should be _encouraging_ me to be _myself_! Not force me into some stupid cookie cutter idea of what you think is _best_!”

A strained, airless silence mushroomed between them. The lump in Mike’s throat made it difficult to swallow.

Staring at his parents’ twin expressions of shock and offense, Mike thought fleetingly of what they would say if they knew what _else_ he thought about.

Then, because he noticed a glitter in his dad’s eye, and the way his mom’s cheeks flushed with colour, Mike shoved away from the table and got to his feet. Grabbing his bowl, he charged to the sink, dumped it, and turned to march towards the front door.

Finding her voice, his mom exclaimed, “Just _where_ do you think you’re going?” And in a baritone bristling with repressed fury, his dad’s voice followed him into the foyer. “Michael Wheeler, turn around and come here, right now.”

Mike put a hand on the doorknob. Together, his parents barked: “Mike!”

He wrenched the door open and slammed it behind him.

Another aggrieved cry – _Michael! –_ was muffled as he grabbed his bike, hopped on, and immediately sailed down the sloping driveway. He bumped onto the road without looking and sharply turned right, heading towards downtown Hawkins.

The late summer breeze rippled his polo shirt. His fringe tore away from his forehead as he peddled faster and faster, blood-hot frustration and despair drumming through his veins.

His words span through his head. _College… crummy job… get married…_ Fright zipped through him. _Normal, regular, boring._ He’d said that. He’d implied he wasn’t those things. He made it sound like he was abnormal, freakish, eccentric. And what happened to people like that? Did they wish they’d had a normal life when they were in hospital, dying from a disease that they got from being _fags_?

Mike’s peddling slowed. The lump in his throat thickened until he could only suck in small gasps of air. He squeezed his eyes closed, fighting to regain control. _Get it together,_ he thought fiercely. _C’mon! Just suck it up!_

His bike ticked to a stop. Mike lowered a foot to the ground to steady himself. Acting quickly, in case any of their neighbours were watching, he grabbed the end of his polo shirt and wiped his eyes.

A minute passed. Another. Then, he realised that any moment now his dad would be getting into the car and heading for work. That alone pushed him to shake his head until his fringe obscured his eyes, glance down the street behind him, and kick off again. Mike resumed peddling at a more sedate pace. He breathed shakily, willing his pulse to slow and the tears that prickled behind his eyes to disappear.

Just forget it. Forget it. It doesn’t matter.

Mike’s unhappy anger flattened into bleak determination. He needed to put his parents out of his mind.

The Wheelers’ street leveled out as it stretched towards the town proper. Tall birch trees and cars lined the road in front of white-panelled houses. It occurred to him that many of them were the same: a small American flag hanging out front, shrubbery, a kid’s toy abandoned on the evergreen lawn. Sprinklers puttered water onto the road and fell on Mike in a cool mist. He steered his bike single-handedly and wiped his face with the other, shoving his fringe aggressively to one side. His eyes no longer pricked, but they felt raw from unshed tears.

Mike returned his hand to the handlebars just as a familiar figure slipped onto the road ahead.

Startled, Mike stared as Lucas glanced casually behind him, long legs peddling – then, when Lucas did a double-take and grinned broadly, Mike’s body prickled with sudden panic. He swallowed thickly.

“Hey, dude!” Lucas braked long enough for Mike to draw level with him before continuing at Mike’s pace. Lucas glanced between Mike and the road ahead, still grinning. “Didn’t think I’d see you today. Where’re you headed?”

By some miracle, Mike found his voice as his heart hammered. “Dustin’s,” he managed. “Yeah, uh, he wanted to show me some new gadget he made at camp. I didn’t pay attention first time ‘round, so…”

“Cool, me too,” Lucas replied, and Mike thought, _Crapcrapcrap._ “But I was meeting him at Weathertop. Did you guys talk last night, or something?”

Thinking quickly, Mike said, “Did I say Dustin? I meant Robin. I forgot to pay her when we went to the movies the other night. Dumb move, I know.”

“Robin? Like, Steve’s girlfriend?” Lucas wrinkled his face but appeared to dismiss whatever he was about to say. Shrugging, he said, “Okay, whatever,” then glanced at Mike and said slyly, “So… it’s back on.”

Mike dodged a piece of trash on the road and shot Lucas a confused look. “What’s back on?”

“Mike, c’ _mon._ ” Lucas widened his eyes. “You don’t have to keep it a secret. It’s kind of obvious.”

The argument with his parents reared its head, and panic returned in a rush. Mike’s heart started thumping again in his throat. “What are you talking about?”

Rolling his eyes expressively, Lucas groaned at the sky. “I _said,_ it’s obvious. You and El! I don’t get why you’re pretending like you’re subtle.”

“I’m subtle,” Mike retorted reflexively. Then: “Wait, you think I went to the movies with _El_?”

“You’re not,” Lucas said. “And, yeah. I don’t just think that. I know that.”

Mike almost laughed with relief.

“Well, you know shit,” Mike remarked, fighting to keep triumph from his voice. “Because I didn’t do anything with El. I went and saw _Fright Night_ with Will.” Noticing Lucas’ surprised look, Mike added: “Satisfied?”

“Uh, yeah.” Lucas frowned. “I guess.”

They lapsed into silence. As they cycled in tandem, Mike waited for Lucas to say something, but he continued to frown at the road ahead.

When Lucas broke the silence, he sounded puzzled. “Wait. Why did you guys go without us? Max and I have wanted to see _Fright Night_ for, like, weeks. Ever since the previews started showing.”

“No reason,” Mike replied cagily. When Lucas shot him a puzzled look, he added, “Maybe I just wanted to spend time with Will. In case you didn’t notice, I was a jerk to him.”

“Yeah, like back in _July._ ”

 _God! Why did no one understand?_ As Mike rolled his eyes and shook his head, Lucas wheeled close enough to shove his shoulder. Mike wobbled and exclaimed, “Dude!”

“ _Dude,_ ” Lucas mocked. “You have got to stop beating yourself up about that. You and Will are more than friends again. All this self-pity is getting really annoying.”

“It’s not self-pity,” Mike said, and Lucas said, “Uh, yeah, it is. Will would forgive you for anything. Now it’s like you’re trying to prove a point.”

Mike’s fear flared into that old anger. “Oh, yeah? And who might I be proving a point to, _Lucas_?”

“Yourself,” Lucas said, “obviously.”

“That’s not true.”

“Whatever, man.”

They biked around a corner together, dodging clouds of mist from passing sprinklers. Mike’s hands tightened on his handlebars. He glared at Lucas. “No, c’mon, tell me. _Why_ would I be proving a point to myself? That doesn’t even make sense.”

Lucas glanced warily at him. “I don’t know, Mike. Forget I said anything.” Then, as they neared the turn-off for Dustin’s house and, further on, Weathertop, Lucas said, “You know, you don’t have to keep getting mad at us. I’m your friend, Mike. I’m not the enemy.”

At once, the wind left Mike’s sails. Lucas cut across Mike to wheel around the corner, but Mike stayed on the road and slowed to a stop. After a couple of meters Lucas noticed Mike’s absence and braked, turning in his seat to look at him with a frown.

“What’s up?” Lucas said.

Mike opened his mouth, then closed it and shook his head. “Nothing,” he said. “Forget it. I should turn off here if I’m going to go downtown.”

Lucas’ forehead wrinkled in bemusement. “‘Downtown’? Who are you? What for?”

“To see Robin,” Mike replied, his lie souring his tongue. “Remember?”

“But –” Checking himself, Lucas simply made a _whatever_ gesture and, returning his hands to the handlebars, said, “Fine. I’ll see you later, I guess.”

“Yeah,” Mike said, ignoring the undertone in Lucas’ voice. “See you.” He watched Lucas bike away.

Once Lucas turned around another bend and disappeared, Mike glanced up and down the street, pushed off, and began to peddle.

Why had Lucas been so surprised to find out he and Will had gone to the movies together? It wasn’t weird to see a movie with your closest – with one of your best – with _a friend._ The implication that Mike was lying to cover up seeing El was ridiculous. Mike sorely wished he had given Lucas a piece of his mind, but… _I’m not the enemy_. Was he really such a monster? He’d spent the summer determined to believe otherwise. But considering he kept picking fights with everyone around him, maybe he was.

Mike longed to return home and flop onto his bed, but then he’d have to face his parents.

Sighing, Mike continued to bike towards downtown Hawkins. The suburbs slipped past: lawnmowers, cars, other kids on bikes. Clouds putted across the egg-blue sky. Mike sailed down the main street and turned left at the park.

The library was a tall, stately building built of red brick. It was austere for Hawkins, and, unlike the strongly suburban look of the surrounding buildings, implied interesting things happened in this tiny Indiana town.

Mike stashed his bike outside and went up the stone steps two at a time. Once he reached the double doors, he resisted the urge to glance behind him.

Everyone was probably at Dustin’s. If they weren’t, they might see him and wonder why he wasn’t hanging out with the Party. Mike thought fleetingly of what Will would be up to before he remembered Lucas’ confused, borderline suspicious expression. Mike should have lied and said he _had_ been at the movies with El… But why was it apparently more normal to hang out with your ex-girlfriend over your closest friend?

Feeling the scowl on his face, Mike shoved his thoughts to one side and, steeling himself, shoved open the heavy mahogany door.

The library was slightly too cool after the warm sun outside. An air-conditioned breeze stirred against Mike’s exposed arms and legs. The librarian at the desk glanced at him before returning to her work. Brown and white tiles, pillars, tall ceilings. Mike’s sneakers squeaked as he crossed the foyer. When the librarian caught his eye again, he gave her an awkward smile and, on impulse, a wave. Once he was out of sight, Mike cringed at himself.

He hadn’t been in the library since school let out. Now that he thought about it, Mike hadn’t been here since the start of the year. That was when Will was still having nightmares from October, and Mike had come here in desperation, hoping to find a medical book that might tell him how to help Will. He’d spent countless nights sleeping on Will’s floor, waking whenever Will began to mumble, his forehead damp with sweat, his closed eyes twitching. Mike admitted to Will that he didn’t think he was much help, given he never knew what to do, but Will shook his head fiercely, and said, _No, Mike. You being there means everything._ Once Will’s birthday passed – and Mike started seeing El more seriously – he’d spent less and less time with Will until, eventually, he stopped going altogether.

Mike caught himself in NON-FICTION – ANIMALS. Returning to the mouth of the aisle, he squinted at the index: A100, A200… The only sound came from the gentle whir of the air-conditioning and the surreptitious noises from the librarian as she turned pages, sniffed, cleared her throat. There it was: FICTION – FANTASY. Mike glanced at her, then turned quickly and hurried towards the back of the library. His sneakers continued to squeak as if he were on a basketball court. A few people looked up as he passed the reading-slash-study area. Hopefully, the sight of a teenage boy inside on a brilliant, late-summer day wasn’t too memorable an image. Not that anyone in the Party would go _searching_ for him, but… _Ugh, shut up._

The fantasy section was crammed into a corner, half-hidden behind a bank of filing cabinets. The tiles gave way to a beige, scrubby carpet, which was stained with one too many contraband soft drinks. Mike immediately ducked his head to focus on the titles and started walking along the aisle, one hand tripping over the spines as he moved across them.

Since finishing _Watchtower,_ an insatiability bubbled within him. _Watchtower_ had come so close to revealing that unspoken _something_ that Mike realised he wanted, badly. But that _something_ was so vague and undefined, it filled him with an on-edge frustration that, he realised, irritated everyone, especially himself. Even if no one figured out – and they never could – what occupied Mike’s thoughts, he felt conspicuous. Even now, as he furtively crept along the aisle and habitually glanced behind him, Mike felt like there was a giant neon sign pointing down at him. He imagined it said something like WEIRDO or FREAK or, as that hoarse, cruel voice in the back of his mind whispered, _HOMO_.

Fear came over him in a hot rush, and Mike suddenly fought against the overwhelming urge to make a run for it. Instead, he took a deep breath and pressed his lips together. Frowning hard, he focused on the surnames of the authors. Lackey… Lynn…

Mike’s heart skipped. His fingers hovered over the empty place where _Watchtower_ belonged. He darted a look up and down the aisle, then pulled out what looked like _Watchtower_ ’s sequel.

The cover of _The Dancers of Arun_ depicted a silhouetted man with his arms outstretched, standing in front of a tall rock formation, behind which loomed a full moon. Mike flipped it over and scanned the blurb.

Over in the reading section, someone coughed. Mike started, then felt stupid for being so jumpy. He stuck the book in his left armpit and continued along the books, peering at the titles and occasionally taking one down to investigate. How had Will found _Watchtower_? Even as Mike leafed through a few books, none of them seemed to be about characters like Errel and Ryke, or even the two women in _Watchtower_ who had lived together as if they were a guy and a girl. Every book Mike picked up was the usual fantasy story, the same as every other paperback stuffed into his bookcase at home.

Once Mike reached the end of the aisle he started back again. Maybe he’d missed something – or maybe some of the books he’d dismissed were, in fact, like _Watchtower,_ but they were hiding in plain sight. But how was someone like him supposed to _know_? There needed to be a secret symbol or something.

Mike passed the L section, then, on impulse, picked up the book by some lady called Mercedes Lackey. The cover showed a young man in a patterned pink cloak holding the neck of a white horse. Lightning stuck in the background. Around the edges were stylised figures: a grim reaper, a princess, a warrior. Mike made a face to himself and turned it around to read the blurb. Even if it wasn’t what he was looking for, it looked interesting.

Sticking _Magic’s Pawn_ under his arm with the other book, Mike hunted through the stacks for a few more minutes. He picked up two more books, although they looked more like the usual dragon-riders-and-moody-warriors he’d devoured a thousand times over, and started back to the librarian.

No one looked at him as he passed the study area. Shafts of sunlight pooled on the tiles, making him blink against the bright light. Mike kept his head bowed and focused on the toes of his shoes, which squeaked all the way into the foyer.

The librarian was stamping a ledger when Mike approached the desk. A lump rose in his throat. Affecting a careless demeanour, Mike put the four books on the desk and stuck his hands in his pockets.

“Just these?” The librarian asked, tilting her enormous glasses down to look at him. Mike nodded and said, “Yep. Uh, yes. Just those.”

She pursed her lips, but just as Mike contemplated grabbing them and bolting for the doors, she picked them up and began to check them out for him. Mike waited. An impatient, nervous sweat pricked his armpits. The air-conditioned air rose the dark hair on his arms. Mike stared at a calendar tacked onto the wall behind the desk: it depicted a kitten hanging off a laundry line. _Hang in there!_

“Your card, hon,” the librarian prompted. Mike fumbled in his pockets for an anxious moment before emerging with it. Her nails were long and lacquered. As she started sorting through the card index, perfume wafted towards him. Startled, Mike recognised it as the same type El now wore.

After another agonising few minutes, the librarian handed him back his card and the books. With a pointed look, she said, “These are due by the end of September.”

“Got it,” Mike replied. Then, because his mom would probably hear about it otherwise, he added, “Thanks.”

Gathering the books under one arm, Mike muttered a goodbye and squeaked back across the foyer and pushed open the doors with his right shoulder.

After the cool library air, the heat of the sun was a shock. Squinting, Mike jogged down the steps and over to his bike. Belatedly, he realised he’d forgotten his backpack.

“Fuck!”

“ _Mike_?”

He turned on the spot to see Nancy. She had paused on the pavement to stare at him. Her hair was pulled back with a bright blue comb, and she wore a neat short-sleeved shirt with a skirt that reached her knees. Bemused, Nancy approached him, a small smile playing across her mouth.

“Did you just come out of the library?” she asked.

“No, I beamed down just in time to surprise you,” Mike deadpanned, and she rolled her eyes.

“Hilarious,” Nancy replied drily. She took in his stack of books and bike. “Seriously, what are you doing? It’s beautiful out. Shouldn’t you be with your friends? Swimming, or something?”

Nancy’s sudden appearance unnerved him. Mike shifted his books until their spines were hidden from view. Frowning, he asked, “What are _you_ doing?”

“I asked first,” Nancy pointed out, and Mike said, “They’re at Dustin’s. I didn’t want to go to Dustin’s. So, I came here. Is that okay?”

Giving him an unimpressed look, Nancy looked as if she wanted to say something else, but she simply shook her head. “Sure, whatever,” she replied. “I’m, uh. I’m on lunch break, actually. I was going to eat in the park.”

“I didn’t know you got another job,” Mike said, surprised.

Nancy laughed humourlessly. “Yeah, well. Turns out the _Hawkins Post_ could forgive me, considering the editor and his right-hand man disappeared virtually overnight.” She looked at him for a moment, then gestured over the road to the park. “Do you… I mean, you don’t have to. But do you want to sit down with me? I forgot my book at the office.”

A self-deprecating joke teetered on the tip of his tongue – like, _Great to know I’m a replacement for your lame detective novel –_ but Lucas’ voice from earlier echoed through his mind.

“Fine,” he said reluctantly. “But I want half of your sandwich.”

“You strike a hard bargain,” Nancy observed. “Done. C’mon.”

Mike retrieved his bike and, balancing the books on the seat with one hand, he wheeled it after Nancy, who led the way across the road and into the grass. Hawkins park was little more than a square of greenery surrounded on all four sides by buildings, but the shade provided by the trees was a welcome respite from the sun, which was at its apex and bristled with heat. Mike must have been in the library longer than he thought; his stomach rumbled as they padded over to a space on the dappled lawn.

Putting down his bike and the books, Mike joined Nancy on the grass. She sat in a similar way to Will: left leg crossed beneath her, her free hand holding her right ankle. After rustling in her brown paper bag, Nancy handed him an apple and half a sandwich. Mike sniffed it and immediately made a face; she laughed.

“I forgot you don’t like tuna. Here, I have some crackers.”

“Thanks.” Trading the sandwich for the crackers, Mike started eating. He gazed around the park but aside from a pair of office-looking ladies on the other side of the square, they were alone. A solitary car drove past accompanied by a drift of music from the radio: _Glory days, well, they’ll pass you by…_

Tossing his fringe back from his face, Mike turned back to Nancy, only to find her observing him. He immediately stopped chewing and frowned. Through a mouthful of cracker, he mumbled, “What?”

Nancy lowered her sandwich half and tilted her head, eyes narrowing. “Mike,” she started slowly. “Are you… Is everything okay? I feel like I haven’t seen you since, you know.” The word _Starcourt_ hovered between them. “We live in the same house, but we almost never talk.”

Uncomfortable, Mike said, “What do we have to talk about?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” Nancy pretended to think. “Supernatural beings. Tears in the space-time continuum. Eleven _._ ” Mike winced, but she continued. “It’s like we only ever hang out when the world needs saving.” Sounding bitter, Nancy put down her sandwich and dusted her hands off.

Mike looked at her beneath his fringe. “There’s no reason for us to hang out. We barely have anything in common.” As Nancy opened her mouth, he added, “And the Upside Down doesn’t count.”

Something very much like sadness flashed in Nancy’s expression. She ducked her gaze and pressed her lips together. After a pause, she looked back up, frowning slightly. “Still. Mom says you haven’t been yourself lately.”

Mike immediately scowled. “You talk to _mom_ about me?” he blurted. “Nancy, what the hell! Does privacy not exist anymore?”

“Of course, it exists!” Nancy exclaimed. “It’s just a question, Mike.”

“A question that’s actually straight from mom,” he corrected.

Leaning back, Nancy made a face at her sandwich and said: “Sorry I asked.”

“Yeah,” Mike muttered. “So am I.”

They sat there in awkward tension for a long moment. Mike continued to eat his crackers, Nancy her sandwich. After Nancy started the other half of her sandwich and Mike on the apple, the knot of frustration that had tightened in his chest started to loosen. He chanced a look at Nancy, who was chewing and gazing into the middle distance, her brow slightly furrowed. Mike swallowed his mouthful of apple and cleared his throat.

“To answer your question.” Mike glanced at Nancy and shrugged. “I’m fine. Just teenage shit.”

“Oh,” Nancy said, sounding relieved. “Right.” After another pause, she said, “Are you… back together with El?”

His apple still had a sticker on it. Mike started peeling it away with his thumbnail; it took all his attention. “Nope,” he replied, mouth popping on the _P._

“Oh.” In his peripheral vision, Nancy toyed with her sandwich before lifting it to her mouth. Before she took a bite, she asked, “How do you feel about that?”

“Fine,” Mike replied, and the honesty of his answer zipped through him. Sure, there were some residual issues – like El saying she still liked him, and her resistance to D&D – but Mike didn’t want to focus on those right now. His brain was at capacity with another, far more pressing problem.

“It sucked when I broke up with Steve,” Nancy offered tentatively. “I felt... I thought that I’d never find someone again.”

“Yeah, that’s…” Mike peeled off the sticker and shot her a sideways look. “I’m fine about it.”

“I know you said you loved her, but… you’ll find someone else. It’ll work out.”

Mike flicked the sticker into the grass and frowned. “I’m not going to _fall in love_.” Irritated, he said, “Why do you care so much about this, anyway?”

To his surprise, Nancy laughed again, though there was a strain of humour in her tone this time. “Believe me,” she said archly, “your love life doesn’t keep me up at night. But I’m allowed to check in on my little brother, aren’t I?”

Making a face, Mike said, “Not if you call me your ‘little brother’.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Nancy teased. “Very tall and lanky brother. Is that better?”

Mike threw her a look and Nancy laughed, properly this time. She held her hands up in surrender. “Fine. I give up. I’m here if you want to talk about anything, though.”

She resumed eating her sandwich. Mike took a huge bite out of his apple and chewed with difficulty. On the far side of the park he glimpsed the sign of Melvald’s; if he peered hard enough, he could just see Mrs Byers’ green car parked outside. A slightly itchy feeling settled over him. He couldn’t talk to Nancy. Could he? On the few occasions that Nancy was in the same room as the news playing on the radio, she never commented when the story was about AIDs. Even when their dad grumbled, _Serves them right,_ she didn’t say anything. Only their mom occasionally interjected, and it was usually to rebuke their dad because Holly was around.

Mike couldn’t talk to her… directly. But maybe he could talk hypothetically.

Swallowing his mouthful of apple, Mike steeled himself. Then he darted a glance at Nancy from behind his fringe.

“Nance?” She looked up, eyebrows arched, still chewing her sandwich. Mike shifted his weight and stared at the apple in his hand. “Uh – when did you… Why did you break up with Steve?” In the silence that ensued, Mike added, “You two were like, all over each other. And then you weren’t.” He sat up straighter and met her gaze, squinting slightly in the sun. “How come?”

Nancy inhaled through her nose and leaned back a little, as she always did when she was thinking quickly. She stared at her half-eaten sandwich for a moment before finishing it in small, methodical bites. Once she was finished, she brushed the crumbs from her hands and sighed.

“Well,” she started, sounding remarkably composed. “I broke up with Steve because I didn’t love him.”

Mike frowned. “That’s it?”

Surprised, Nancy looked up at him. Bemused, she said, “Uh, yeah. It is. Is that not good enough for you?”

“No, I mean…” Fidgeting, Mike’s frown deepened. “So, you just realised, out of the blue, that you didn’t love him, so you… broke up? Shouldn’t you have, like, fought or something?”

“There’s not exactly a blueprint for this kind of thing,” Nancy replied gently. “Steve was – is – an amazing guy. And I thought I loved him for a long time. In the end, though… We weren’t right for each other. He – I wanted… something that we weren’t going to get from each other. It was almost too perfect. I don’t know how to explain it.” She focused on him. “Did you realise you don’t love El?”

“What?” Mike shook his head quickly. “No, no, nothing like that. I just – I just wanted to know. You’ve never talked about it, so…”

“Not to you, maybe,” Nancy remarked. “But you have to trust your gut feeling about these things. It’s not… fair otherwise. Steve and I should have worked… but we didn’t. That’s not on us; that’s just how it turned out.”

Mike finished the apple and threw the core away. Nancy said, “Mike, there’s a trash can _right_ there,” and he rolled his eyes and said, “I’ll get it in a second.”

As Nancy’s lips pressed together disapprovingly, Mike said, “But then you and Jonathan got together. When did that happen?”

To his surprise, Nancy coloured. “We, um. Well…” Frowning and wrinkling her nose, she tilted her head to the side and said, “That’s kind of a long story.”

“Did you realise you liked him when you were still with Steve?” Mike pressed, and Nancy looked at him sharply.

“No,” she replied, a trace of doubt in her tone. “At least I don’t… No. It wasn’t like that. Jonathan and I were friends for a long time before I realised I had any kind of… It’s important to like the person you’re with, Mike. And I liked being with Jonathan more than I did Steve.” Nancy exhaled, ruffling her fringe. “I don’t know why I’m telling you this. Weren’t we talking about you?”

“But why Jonathan?” _And why Will?_ “What is it about him that’s so incredibly different from being with Steve?”

Nancy laughed. “Jeez, what is this, the Spanish Inquisition?” When she caught Mike’s intent look, she faltered. Glancing between his eyes, her guarded expression shifted into something more serious. “Jonathan is a better fit for me,” Nancy answered. “We’re friends. We listen to each other and respect each other. Yeah, obviously, I like being with him, um, physically –” As Mike pretended to retch, she grinned. “You get the picture. Those things are great, but they don’t mean much if you don’t have a connection behind it. Friendship is more important.” Nancy cocked her head and gently added: “Mike, is this about El?”

Mike drew back and tightened his crossed arms, which were looped around his knees. “No,” he replied. “I just wanted to know.”

“It’s fine if you don’t like her anymore,” Nancy divined.

“It’s not that,” Mike replied quickly. Nancy remained unconvinced.

“Alright,” she said. “But trust me on one thing, okay? When it feels right, you’ll know.”

Mike scoffed. “Oh, come on! That’s such a cliché.”

“No,” Nancy said shrewdly. “Some clichés are true. Stranger things have been known to happen.”

They looked at each other for a moment, then Mike cracked a smirk.

“Okay. Yeah.” Shaking her head, Nancy smiled and scrunched up her nose. “I walked right into that one, didn’t I?”

“Yeah,” Mike said. “That saying would work almost anywhere on the planet _except_ for Hawkins.”

When Nancy laughed at herself, Mike grinned at her.

Once Nancy composed herself, she said, “Seriously, Mike. If you’re not sure about Eleven, that’s okay. Except…”

Mike’s smile faded. “Except?”

“Well…” Raising her eyebrows, Nancy shot him a trademark older sister look. “She _did_ dump you, right?” When Mike groaned, she added: “If she’s dumped you, you should probably leave her alone.”

“I know that,” Mike replied sarcastically. “I’m not an idiot, okay? And contrary to what everyone seems to think, I’m also not an asshole. I _don’t_ like El anymore.” Noticing Nancy’s expression, Mike hastened to say: “I mean, I like her, obviously. Girls are… cool. Uh.”

 _Get a grip!_ Holding out a hand as if to stop Nancy interrupting him, Mike wrinkled his nose and added: “ _El_ is cool. The coolest. But yes, obviously, she did – dump me. I know that. But I don’t… want to be with her. So… end of story.”

Nancy had a slight frown on her face. “End of story,” she echoed.

They sat in silence for a long moment. He stared hard at the toes of his Converse. Just as he was trying to think of a way to extricate himself from his sister’s presence, Nancy inhaled deeply and said, “Well, I should get back to work.”

“Oh, yeah.” Relieved, Mike scrambled to his feet. “Yeah, I don’t want to keep you.”

Wryly, Nancy said, “You’re not. I’m early. I always have to be early.” She started gathering their trash. Mike brushed the grass from his shorts and picked up his stack of books.

Once Nancy returned from the trash can, she straightened her clothes and smiled at him. “Thanks for having lunch with me. Beats people watching.” Gesturing at his books, Nancy said, “What did you check out?”

Without looking down, Mike coolly said, “Just fantasy books. You know, whatever.”

“I guess,” Nancy said, looking bemused. “Okay. I’ll see you at home.”

“Yeah.” Mike nodded a little too enthusiastically. Nancy’s bemused expression deepened. “Totally.”

“Alright.” She smiled at him and made to leave. Once she’d walked a few meters, she turned around and said, “Hey, Mike?”

His stomach swooped. “Uh, yeah?”

Nancy held his gaze. “Remember what I said. When it feels right…”

Mike sensed Nancy was heading towards a sisterly Yoda moment, and blurted: “Okay, thanks for your dating wisdom.”

Holding her hands up in surrender, Nancy made a face and half turned around. “Don’t ever say I didn’t try.”

When Mike said, “Believe me, I won’t,” she threw him a smile and started across the grass. Mike watched her until she crossed the road and returned the way she’d come.

He should have been thinking about a hundred other things. Like how it was nice to hang out with Nancy and, for once, not be at each other’s throats. And how it seemed like she was happy for the first time that summer.

But most of all he thought about her and Jonathan, and how it felt a whole lot like how he felt about Will.


	21. Chapter 21

They kept laughing about his stupid haircut.

“Guys,” Mike tried. Dustin’s face was scrunched up and tears glittered in the corners of his eyes; Lucas had collapsed on the couch, holding his stomach. Mike looked miserably at Will, who barked out a laugh and promptly clapped a hand to his mouth.

Hiding his grin, Will said, “I’m sorry! I’m trying not to!”

“It’s not that bad.” A howl of laughter met his words. Mike crossed his arms and scowled. “Okay, I get it! Jesus, shut _up_!”

Lucas composed himself just enough to say, “You look like the Barbies my sister used to mutilate,” and Dustin said, “Seriously, the fact that your mom paid _money_ for that is making me lose my damn _mind_.”

Mike threw his hands up. Turning to Will, he implored: “Are they being assholes or have I gone blind?”

Will lowered the hand from his mouth. Dimples pinched each of his cheeks, and warmth played in his eyes. “C’mon.” Grabbing the sleeve of Mike’s oversized t-shirt, he dragged him across the basement to the bathroom. Will yanked the light cord and, with two hands on Mike’s shoulders, pushed him to the mirror.

The overhead light did not do Mike any favours. His face – which had sprouted more freckles this summer than he thought humanly possible – was set in a deadpan, borderline belligerent expression, with his eyebrows drawn into a tight frown. It wasn’t his pout, or the flicker of vulnerability in his eyes, that made him want to shrink into a closet and hide forever.

It was his _hair._

Mike had tried his best to resist. He really did. When his mom corralled him yesterday afternoon and frog-marched him to the car, Mike kept up a steady stream of pleas, arguments, and, once they neared the barber in downtown Hawkins, attempted outright mutiny. But his mom was probably the most stubborn out of all the Wheelers, and she had grimly escorted him like a Stormtrooper to Mr Daniels’ barber chair, where Mike had been draped with a sheet, given a Coke, and made to suffer for fifteen minutes. His long fringe, which had been his shield all summer, was gone. The cowlicks around his ears – gone. The only thing he wasn’t sorry to see go was the slight mullet he’d grown; it reminded him of Billy. When Mr Daniels stepped back from the chair and his mom smiled at him in the mirror and murmured, “There’s my handsome boy,” Mike knew he was screwed.

Mike’s fringe was trimmed and poofed out over his forehead, exposing more of his frog-like face. The sides were just long enough to curl over the top of his ears – that had been Mike’s only victory in the whole debate – but the back was cropped, amplifying that bowl-cut shape both he and Will had sported for the past year. He could stand all of that if it weren’t for one crucial fact.

His hair wasn’t straight anymore. It was almost as curly as Max’s.

Feeling his face fall anxiously, Mike slowly raised a hand and hovered over the waves sprang from his head like a rippled tide. No amount of combing or water could tame whatever monstrosity had mutated on top of his head – he ought to know, considering how long he’d tried that morning.

He looked a little like Egon Spengler’s younger brother.

“This is a disaster!” Mike moaned to his reflection.

Over his shoulder, Will grimaced sympathetically. “You could use gel?”

“What do I know about gel?!” Pulling out a long curl until it was straight, they both watched as he let go and it sprang back to position. Mike closed his eyes in agony. “I’m doomed.”

“You’re not doomed,” Will said, the smile in his voice evident. Mike was distantly aware that Will’s hands remained on his shoulders. As if he read Mike’s mind, Will’s hands dropped.

When Mike opened his eyes and met Will’s gaze, Will smiled warmly at him.

“For what it’s worth,” he teased. “I think it looks nice.”

Mike was too miserable to focus on how his heart twinged. Instead, he dragged his hands over his face and stared at the mirror. Sounding like a haunted man, he said, “Maybe I should leave the country.”

“Maybe that’s a good idea,” Lucas said from behind them, where he leaned against the doorway with his arms crossed, smirking. Dustin appeared alongside. Trying to be helpful, Dustin said, “You should talk to Steve. He put me onto this spray that I _swear_ changed my life –”

Noticing Lucas’ expression, Dustin faltered. “What?”

“Dude,” Lucas commiserated. He inclined his head in Mike’s direction. “Don’t you get it?” When Dustin frowned, Lucas gave him a shit-eating grin. “No amount of Farrah Fawcett is going to fix _that._ ”

As Dustin started to laugh and Will stifled his with a cough, Mike whirled around. “Do I have to remind you that this is _my_ house?”

“What are you going to do?” Lucas teased. “Bounce us outta here with your _groovy_ new look?”

Dustin squinted at him. “You do kind of look like Tom Hanks in _Bachelor Party._ ”

“You’re both so mean,” Will tried, though when he caught Mike’s eye, his mouth quirked.

With as much dignity he could muster, Mike swept out of the bathroom and stalked towards the stairs. A volley of cries followed him; when he reached the banister, he looked over his shoulder and rolled his eyes.

“I’m escaping to get us snacks,” Mike snipped. “And if you make fun of me when I get back, you’re _banned_ from the basement _forever._ ”

Struggling to keep his face straight, Lucas saluted him. Dustin pursed his lips and nodded. Only Will grinned lopsidedly and said, “We promise.”

“Yeah, right,” Mike muttered. When he started stomping upstairs, they burst into renewed laughter.

His foul mood accompanied him to the kitchen. The afternoon sunlight poured over the dining table and just hit the linoleum. His mom was leaning against the oven, flipping through a copy of _On the Issues._ She glanced up as he wrenched open a bottom cupboard and began his hunt.

“If you’re looking for food, it’s on the bottom shelf.” Mike wrinkled his nose and dropped to a crouch, pushing aside containers. Before he opened his mouth, his mom said, “On the far left, Mike.”

Emerging with a family-sized bag of Doritos, Mike straightened up and made to kick the cupboard door closed. When he felt his mom’s eyes on him, he instead nudged it gently with the toe of one sneaker. Feeling furtive, Mike went to the fridge and grabbed three Cokes and a root beer for Dustin (his mom didn’t let him drink Coke – something about his teeth). Wedging the cold cans underneath his arm, Mike immediately closed the fridge door and made to hurry out of the room. He could hear Dustin’s loud voice from up here; it sounded like he and Lucas had started a debate.

When he was about to turn into the hallway, his mom cleared her throat. Mike paused.

“Mike.” There was a current of exasperation in her voice. “Are we going to talk about the other morning?”

Will’s voice joined Dustin’s in chorus; Mike would give anything to be down there right now. Reluctantly, he turned around and leaned one shoulder against the doorway. The cold cans burned the underside of his arm. Squarely meeting his mom’s tired, expectant expression, Mike raised his eyebrows. “What is there to talk about?”

“Well, let’s see.” His mom put the magazine on counter and started counting points off on her fingers. “First, you accused your father and I of barring Nancy from New York. Then, you said some hurtful things about our family. And then you implied we’re controlling you.” Exasperated, she threw her hands up and fisted them on her hips. Her long, blonde hair fell around her face in feathered tufts, and her large eyes were ringed with the same makeup Nancy used. “Mike, what is going on?”

“Nothing’s going on,” Mike replied tightly. Why did these altercations always have to happen when he was _least_ in the mood to talk? Not that he especially wanted to talk to his mom anyway – she wouldn’t get it. No one did.

Frowning, his mom tilted her head to one side and said, “Obviously, something is. Mike, honey…” She closed her eyes and briefly pinched the bridge of her nose. Having collected herself, she looked up at him with an expression that bordered on pleading.

“Mike,” she said softly. “You can talk to me. Whatever it is. Okay? I don’t know… Maybe something happened this summer to make you… feel angry. If that’s the case, let’s talk about it. I know I would, if I were you.” She tried a reassuring smile. “I’m here for you.”

A lump formed in his throat. “I don’t want to ‘talk about it’,” Mike spat. “There’s nothing to talk about. And stop with the caring mom routine, okay? You’re like some character off that stupid show you watch.”

So he wouldn’t have to see her face, Mike turned on his heel and disappeared into the hall.

Frustration bubbled within him. Scowling at the carpet, he navigated his way to the basement door on instinct. The house blurred around him: family photographs, potted plants, an address book on the telephone stand.

It wasn’t _just_ that he didn’t want to talk to his mom. If he was being honest with himself – which seemed to be the theme for this summer – part of him, deep down, _did_ want to talk. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to – he couldn’t.

A million years ago they sat together on the couch, and she held his hand and said, _I don’t want you to feel like you have to…_ hide _anything from me._ At the time, the word _hide_ was innocuous. All Mike thought about was his friends, Star Wars, school. In retrospect, the scene was loaded with meaning. Had his mom… known? Did she sense something was wrong with him? And not just wrong in the typical, dumb, teenage way he’d said to Nancy, but, like, fundamentally _wrong_ with him _._ It was his black scribble, taking over.

Mike realised he had stopped and was staring blindly at the basement door. His mom never allowed them to put up signs, so there was nothing to distinguish this door from the others that lead to the laundry or the downstairs office his dad never used. For a sudden, confused reason, Mike felt like he was just another door his mom felt like she should check every now and then, to vacuum and dust and make sure the paint wasn’t peeling. As if he was just a chore to be ticked off; a responsibility she had.

All at once, Mike wanted to cry.

_Not now!_ He grabbed the edge of his t-shirt and tried to wipe his eyes. The Doritos packet crunched beneath one arm. As he awkwardly hunched over, a soda can slipped from his numb grasp and thumped onto the carpet.

He wanted so badly to just go up to his room and lock the door.

But Will was downstairs. Dustin and Lucas too… but Will was there. Probably laughing at some joke of Dustin’s or trading insights with Lucas. The Coke can lay just by his left foot. Will might be thirsty or hungry. He had biked in the early afternoon heat, after all. The least Mike could do was stop being such a _freaking baby_ and go downstairs and pretend like he was normal.

Like it – like everything else was normal.

Swallowing thickly, Mike tried to pull himself together. He leaned down and picked up the can. For another long moment, he breathed deeply and stared unseeingly at the door. Then he opened it and mechanically went into the basement.

A babble of voices immediately greeted him. Mike closed the door behind him and started down the stairs. Dustin and Lucas stood facing Will and were talking over one another. Judging from their gestures, they were trying to convince him of something. Will’s shoulders shook with laughter. When Dustin and Lucas caught sight of Mike, Will turned around.

His soft, dark hair caught in his eyelashes. Wide eyes, black as marbles, glittered with humour. Will grinned when he caught Mike’s gaze, and he exclaimed: “You won’t guess what they’ve been working on!”

And then Mike’s laces caught on the bottom step and he went flying like a cartoon character.

Soda cans hit the concrete floor and rolled in wild directions. The Doritos sailed through the air. Mike managed to squawk, “Oh, fuck!” before he fell, hard on his left side, and promptly flopped over onto his back.

The shock of impact bloomed along his body. Mike squeezed his eyes tight and groaned, “Ow, ow, ow.” There was a chorus of voices (“Oh my God, is he dead?” – “If he is, that’s one hell of an animated corpse.” – “Mike, can you hear me?”) and then someone was kneeling by him, and a warm hand was on his shoulder.

“Mike?” Will repeated. “Are you okay?”

If Mike wanted to cry before, the pain from falling over _really_ made him want to well up. Keeping his eyes closed, he mumbled: “Define ‘okay’.”

“Yeah,” Dustin remarked from above him. “He’s fine.”

Slowly, Mike opened his eyes. Gingerly, in anticipation of the helluva bruise he’d have tomorrow, he managed to prop himself on his elbows. His legs were splayed out, his shorts riding up. Laces trailed from his right sneaker.

He tilted his head back and looked up at Will. Something soft flickered in Will’s expression.

Quietly, Will said, “Are you sure you’re okay?”

Mike’s mouth was suddenly dry. Frowning against that now-familiar impulse to close the distance between them, Mike shook his head and started to sit up. “I’m fine,” he managed. “I mean, I’m a total klutz, but I’m okay, I guess.”

Will stood and helped Mike up with one hand. Lucas crossed his arms and pursed his lips against laughing. “Man,” he observed, “that was Cartoon Network approved.”

“Shut up,” Mike said, without venom. He dusted off his shorts as Will patted down the back of his shirt. “I think I broke my ribs.”

“If you broke your ribs, you wouldn’t be able to talk.” From the sound of it, Lucas did not consider this a negative.

“Well, that’s not strictly correct,” Dustin remarked, picking up the soda cans. He straightened and gave Mike a sympathetic look. “But it _would_ fucking hurt.”

“Thanks for the medical tips,” Mike replied sourly, and Will said, “It was impressive, though. It was like you went in slow motion.” When Will smiled at him, he felt less stupid.

“That’s what I was aiming for,” Mike joked weakly, and Will said, his cheek dimpling, “It was just like in practice.”

Lucas salvaged the pack of Doritos and ripped it open. He hesitated when he caught Mike’s eye. “I can eat these, right?”

“You are now,” Mike said, and Lucas winked.

Now that the shock had worn off, Mike didn’t feel too bad. Mainly dusty from the floor and a little tender. As Dustin and Lucas threw themselves on the sagging old couch, Dustin having cracked his can of root beer, Will went and leaned back against the table with his arms crossed. Mike wandered into the middle of the room and idly felt where he’d landed. He inspected his left forearm: it was bright red. Yeah, that was going to bruise.

“So,” Dustin started, smacking his lips. “Are you guys thinking about school yet?”

“Hell yeah,” Lucas replied through a cheesy mouthful, “this year’s science fair is in the bag.”

Brightening, Dustin said, “We could enter one of my camp Know Where inventions!”

“Isn’t that cheating?” Will asked, glancing at Mike. Unable to help himself, Mike said, “It is, technically. Mr Clarke rewrote the guidelines last year after the robot incident.”

A shadow came over the room. “Damn departmental politics,” Lucas muttered, and Dustin shook his head in mourning.

“Either way,” Mike continued, “we could use one your inventions as a blueprint and come up with something new together.”

Dustin grinned. “Great idea!”

Sinking back against the cushions, Lucas kicked his legs out and folded his arms behind his head, the Doritos pack abandoned in his lap. His Karate Kid bandana made him look suddenly cool and self-assured; Mike suspected that out of them all, Lucas was the most likely to do something unforgiveable, like join the basketball team. Their classmates never seemed to shun Lucas as they did the rest of the Party. His relationship with Max was sure to help – she remained the Californian mystery in the high-stakes world of Hawkins teenagers.

With an air of importance, Lucas announced: “I’m going for debate club president.”

Will said, “Oh, wow!” and Dustin frowned and said, “How the hell are you going to get rid of Phil Fuller? That guy is half-Vulcan, I swear.”

Noticing Lucas’ self-satisfied expression, Mike raised an eyebrow. “You’ve got a plan, haven’t you?”

“Oh, yeah.” Closing his eyes and smiling like a cat, Lucas added, “But it’s top secret stuff. I haven’t even told Max yet.”

“That’ll last,” Mike said sarcastically. Will stifled a laugh. Annoyed, Lucas opened one eye and glared at him. With regret, Dustin said, “Well, I can’t be your spymaster.”

Lucas opened both eyes and gave him an unimpressed look. “ _Well_ , I didn’t ask.”

“I’m just letting you know,” Dustin replied soothingly, “that in the inevitable situation where you look to me for guidance, I’m flagging well in advance that my services will be unavailable this year.”

Lucas snorted. Mike frowned. “What are you talking about?”

As if it were obvious, Dustin said, “I’m sitting the SATs.”

“What?!”

Astonished, Mike stared at him. Fortunately, he wasn’t the only one. The colour had drained from Will’s face; even Lucas looked shell-shocked. Urgently, Will said, “Are you serious?”

“Naturally.” Dustin looked at them each in turn, his expression becoming more confused by the second. “Wait, you are too, right? My five-year plan includes a _full_ ride to MIT. I won’t get it if I don’t start preparing as soon as possible.” He focused on Mike. “What are _you_ going to do? Put them off until next year?”

Mike could only grimace. “I – I mean, I guess? I don’t know. I haven’t… I’ve had other stuff on my mind lately.”

“Yeah, we know,” Lucas said in an undertone, and Mike shot him an irritated look.

“It’s not that I haven’t thought about it,” Mike continued, pitching his voice louder. “I just don’t think we have to make a decision right now. That’s all.”

“You kind of do,” Dustin said slowly. “At the very least you should know by first week. I thought you’d be the same as me. I figured we could start a study group together.”

Noticing that June-like hint of hurt in Dustin’s eyes, Mike hurried to say, “We can. We will. Don’t worry.”

“Okay.” Dustin took off his cap and scratched his head. He glanced between them all. “I’ll admit I’m surprised, guys. We’re bona fide _nerds_. ACT and SAT prep is like, in our DNA.”

Lucas groaned. “When you say it like that it sounds _so_ lame.”

Catching Will’s eye, Mike shot him a non-verbal question: _What about you?_ Will shrugged, uncomfortable, and averted his gaze.

Looking up at the ceiling, Lucas muttered, “Man, I can’t believe we’re going to be in high school.”

“I know,” Dustin remarked reluctantly. “It feels like yesterday we were in sixth grade.”

_I don’t want things to change._ The thought was so sudden, it took Mike by surprise. But… it was true. High school was – it was a big change. Nancy changed a lot after she started, the obvious evidence being Steve Harrington shimmying up their drainpipe. Most of all, he was worried his classmates would be able to… tell. Mike didn’t think he looked any different. Okay, the hair was a giveaway that, if anything, he still went to the barber with his mom. But what if someone noticed him, I don’t know, staring at some guy’s legs? Mike had had a girlfriend, but no one knew about El. In a way, it was like it didn’t count. Irritation followed by fear flashed through him at the notion of finding another… girl. Another El.

Realising he’d zoned out of the conversation, Mike forced himself to focus on Dustin, who was looking over at Will and saying: “Tell me _you’re_ at least going to join my study group.”

For the second time in a matter of minutes, Will glanced at Mike before he replied. Tightening his arms, which remained crossed over his chest, Will shrugged again, and dropped his gaze.

“I don’t know,” he replied vaguely. “Maybe. We’ll see.”

“You mean being a nerd is no longer in your DNA?” Lucas teased, and elbowed Dustin, who withstood Lucas’ needling like a long-suffering dog. In a deadpan tone of voice, Dustin said, “Hilarious, Sinclair.”

Frowning slightly, Mike studied Will from across the room. Will’s body was long and stretched-out from where he leaned against the table, yet simultaneously he seemed to shrink as Dustin and Lucas continued to bicker in the background. Tilting his head so his fringe slipped over his forehead and out from his eyes, Will pretended interest in pressing the toe of his sneaker into the shag carpet. His eyebrows pinched together. The windows were open in the hope of coaxing a cool breeze; from here, Mike glimpsed the goosebumps on Will’s forearms.

After a moment’s hesitation, Mike said, “Hey, Will?” Will jerked out of his reverie. “Do you want a sweater?”

Colour rose in his cheeks. “I’m okay,” Will replied. “Thanks, though.”

Having emerged victorious from his sparring match with Lucas – whose expression begged to differ – Dustin returned to Will and said, “Seriously, have you decided? Because if you _are_ going to start exam prep, I can register the study group on Monday.”

Will’s dark eyes skittered from Dustin to Lucas and back again. “I don’t… um…” He hesitated. “I don’t, uh, know if –”

The Party waited patiently.

After a long moment, Will gathered himself. “I don’t know if I’ll be here.”

Mike’s blood went cold.

Confused, Lucas said, “Wait, what do you mean?”

“Just that.” Will visibly swallowed. “I… it’s my mom. She’s thinking that we might… It hasn’t been decided yet, or anything, but that maybe… We might move.”

“Move?” Mike echoed hollowly. “Like, move house?”

“You could get a new room,” Lucas remarked. “That’d be cool.”

“No, not house. Um.” Will’s knuckles were white where he grasped his elbows. “S-state. We might move states.”

Silence.

Mike’s extremities felt weightless, as if he had pins and needles. He couldn’t look anywhere except at Will, whose expression burned beneath the weight of his attention. Shifting where he stood, Will’s dark eyes flittered over the room before landing, once, like a skipped stone, on Mike.

Lucas was the first to recover. “You’re _moving_?!”

“Will, what the fuck?” Dustin looked utterly crushed. “You can’t! Why?”

“Yeah, dude,” Lucas insisted. “What’s going on? We defeated the Flayer’s corpse, or whatever the hell that thing was. You’re safe now. Nothing can get you.”

Softly, Will said, “We don’t know that.”

“We do!” Mike hadn’t realised he’d shouted – the Party all looked at him, startled. The lump in his throat made it difficult to breathe. Mike stared at Will. He didn’t care if his feelings were flashing bright neon colours all around him, if it was blindingly obvious that this was the worst thing to ever happen to him, _ever._ He’d already almost lost Will once. He _couldn’t_ lose him again.

“Like Lucas said, he’s dead!” Struggling to keep himself in check, Mike concentrated on Will’s burning dark eyes. “We destroyed him. The gate’s been closed _again._ Hopper _died_ doing that. I promised you nothing was ever going to happen to you again, and I mean it. You can’t just – _leave._ You have to stay.”

Dustin cried: “Exactly!” As if the air rushed from the room, Will looked away from Mike. “You couldn’t be in a more secure position! The government probably has Hawkins on freaking lockdown, or something –”

“Will, you gotta explain,” Lucas interjected. “Because I don’t understand. Like, any of this.”

“It’s my mom,” Will explained, sounding desperate. “And she hasn’t made up her mind. She’s just thinking about it. I already told her I’m not going.”

“Good!” Mike exclaimed. Thinking quickly, he said: “Yeah, you can stay here. You can live with me.”

“Or me,” Dustin added. “I have my old bunkbed in the garage that we could put back in my room. You can have the top.”

Will said, “Thanks, guys,” but conflict flickered in his expression. Quietly, he added, “I don’t know what’s going to happen. Jonathan starts his senior year. I’m starting high school… It’s a weird time to move.”

“Maybe she’s thinking of El.” They all looked at Lucas, who met them one by one and made a _It’s possible_ look. “I mean, Max told me ages ago that your mom doesn’t know what to do about El and school. It’s not like she can join our class without anyone knowing.”

Something hot and fierce leaped in Mike’s chest. “Mrs Byers can’t move because of El!” he snapped. “That’s so selfish. What about Will? – Or Jonathan? It doesn’t make sense.”

Dustin’s reluctant expression returned. “I hate to admit it, but… it kinda does.” He traded a look with Lucas. “I mean, what’s Mrs Byers going to do, home-school El? She works, like, 24/7.”

Grasping at straws, Mike blurted: “But what about Jonathan and Nancy? She’s never been happier. Now they’re going to have to break up.”

“I thought your sister was going to New York,” Lucas said, and Dustin echoed: “Yeah, aren’t they both going to college in a year or whatever anyway?”

Looking at Will, Lucas asked: “ _Is_ Jonathan going to college?”

Will blinked rapidly. “I – I mean, he wanted to go to NYU. But he didn’t get the best grades last semester, and he needs a scholarship... I don’t know,” he added. “I know he wants to, though. Really badly.”

Throwing up both hands, Lucas flopped back against the couch cushions. “There you have it.”

Mike glared at Lucas. “You’re giving up. Just like that?”

“No,” Lucas replied archly, “I’m pointing out the facts.”

“Not very sensitively,” Dustin muttered, and Mike gestured, relieved: “Thank you!”

Scrunching his nose, Lucas said, “Don’t get me wrong. I don’t like it either. But point being, there are logical reasons as to why Mrs Byers might want to move. This isn’t exactly a place with loads of great memories for her.”

“No,” Mike interrupted, “ _that’s_ beside the point. Will can’t go. You can’t,” he shot at Will. Looking back at Dustin and Lucas, Mike felt his anger bubble over into something else. “This is El’s fault.”

To his surprise, both Dustin and Lucas groaned. Scowling, Mike looked between them and demanded: “What? Why are you reacting like that? I’m right!”

“No,” Dustin said flatly, “you’re not.”

“Dude, just…” Lucas searched for a moment. “Shut up.”

Mike glowered at them. Will couldn’t tighten his crossed arms even if he tried, but he did shrink further into himself. “I shouldn’t have said anything,” he murmured. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t ever say that!” Mike said fiercely, and impulsively marched over to Will and put his arm over his shoulders. He’d done this a thousand times before, and now was no different: Will leaned into his side; Mike felt the tension ebb from his body.

Lucas stood up, frowning in consternation. “Yeah, man, don’t do that. This isn’t your fault.” With a pointed glance at Mike, he added, “It’s not anyone’s fault.”

“Your mom will see sense,” Dustin said gently. He came over to Will’s other side and gave him a winning smile. “Don’t worry.”

“Yeah,” Will replied, injecting false cheer into his voice. “I’m sure you’re right.”

They stood in solidarity for a long moment. Will smelled faintly of pine needles; Mike’s arm tightened reflexively around him.

“Okay, guys?” Raising his head, Will looked at them in turn and, with a smile tucked into the corner of his mouth, said shakily, “Can we please not act like I’m dying, or something?”

“Right, yeah, sorry,” Lucas muttered, and Dustin said, apologetically: “I suppose this _is_ a little dramatic, even for us.”

Mike let go of Will’s shoulders and immediately felt his absence. Will shifted his weight against the table and glanced up at Mike; their eyes snagged.

“Thanks,” Will said quietly, and Mike murmured, “No problem.”

Dustin abruptly clapped his hands, making them all jump. “Alright, men! Enough of this doom and gloom!” He turned pointedly to Lucas. “I do believe that a certain _ranger_ has a quest for us…”

Picking up his queue, Lucas made a sweeping gesture and nodded importantly. “Indeed, my bard,” he announced, eyes twinkling. “For it is time for… This morn is a time – a glorious time – of… Okay, screw the Tolkien translation. Today, we dungeon crawl.”

Mike and Will brightened.

“Wait, seriously?” Mike said, and Will eagerly added, “You made a _campaign_?”

Lucas grinned at them both. “Have I got perfect timing or what?”


	22. Chapter 22

On the Friday before school started, the Party decided to have a movie night.

They hadn’t talked about Will’s shock announcement. Besides – he’d said that Mrs Byers hadn’t made up her mind. Maybe it was a temporary thing. With Hopper gone, and El living with them… a lot _had_ changed for the Byers in a short amount of time. Mike didn’t blame Mrs Byers for a bout of craziness. He just hoped that was all it was: temporary.

Otherwise – No, he couldn’t think about anything beyond that. He wouldn’t.

Dustin and Lucas had arrived at Mike’s house early and sequestered themselves in the basement. Will was dropped off by Jonathan shortly afterwards. After a brief debate over genre (Lucas gunned for Western, Dustin suspense) they agreed on horror. The fact Will suggested it didn’t mean anything. They _all_ loved horror.

Mainly to escape his mom – who kept trying to pin him down after their fight – Mike volunteered to go to the video store.

“How long are you going to be?” Dustin complained, watching Mike thump up the basement stairs.

“Half an hour,” Mike called over his shoulder, “forty minutes, tops! Don’t start anything without me!”

“Can’t promise,” Lucas shouted, just as Will yelled, “We won’t!”

Mike slammed the front door behind him and grabbed his bike. Half expecting his mom to come rushing out after him, he jogged down the drive and swung onto his bike. After ticking down to the curb, he glanced both ways, then peddled out into the road.

The sun slipped low towards the horizon. Muggy air stirred along his exposed arms and legs. Although it was mid-August the days continued to stretch out hotly, and the evenings skulked until it grew deep and dark. The sky was a heavy, low navy shot through with orange. He peddled past faceless houses: porch lights winked, the smell of a barbeque, a dining room window thrown open to coax a breeze. Music and laughter drifted past him as he sailed down Maple Street.

With his curly hair pulling back from his forehead, Mike breathed in the smell of smoke and wet grass. Heat radiated from the sun-baked pavement. Dampness touched his pits and the hollow of his back.

Will wasn’t going to move away. Could he? Mike supposed that Mrs Byers, like all parents, had the final say. He knew that if his mom decided they were going to move, there would be literally nothing Mike could do to stop it. He just hoped – hoped with a fierceness that frightened him – that Mrs Byers wouldn’t take Will away from him. From here, from Hawkins. Yeah, a lot of terrible shit had happened here. A _lot._ But this was where they’d grown up. They’d shared everything in this small, dumb town. It was theirs.

The kindergarten flashed past; he glimpsed the swing-set tucked up the back.

As he left the suburbs, it appeared that Mike wasn’t the only one with Friday night plans. Downton Hawkins burst at the seams. He passed by clumps of his classmates, probably enjoying this last gasp of freedom before school. The burger joint was busy, with some teenagers sitting on the hood of a car outside, laughing and drinking Coke. Patrons spilled out of the Hawkins movie theatre, bringing with them a gust of buttered popcorn and sweet soda. A car drove by on the opposite side of the road, windows down, and Mike caught a drift of radio: _Every time you go away you take a piece of me with you…_

He peddled past the library and the park and crossed the intersection. Up ahead, the neon arcade sign glowed in the quickening dark. The doors of the arcade were thrown open and shrill, distorted game music chirped out into the parking lot. On the opposite side of the lot there was the Hawkins’ fifties-style diner. Crammed in between was Hawkins Family Video.

Mike wound through the parked cars, sticking one foot out to keep his balance. Biting his lip in concentration, he just managed to slip through them to the rack, and he swung off his bike just before he hit it. After stashing his bike, Mike adjusted the strap of his backpack as he walked to the front of the video store and through the sliding glass doors.

A wave of chilled air-conditioned air swept down and over him. Mike closed his eyes briefly, revelling in relief, then absent-mindedly combed his fringe flat with his fingers as he wandered into the store.

The rows of videos were dotted with a handful of customers. Movie posters showed everything from the bad romantic comedies his mom liked to Nancy’s favourite mysteries. Mike spotted the horror section in the far-right corner and beetled towards it.

As he passed the counter, he did a double-take. “Uh, why are you everywhere I go?”

Robin raised her eyebrows. “Why are _you_ everywhere _I_ go?”

Mike frowned. “Point taken.”

Robin crossed her arms on the counter and leaned forward. Her frizzy brown hair was clasped in an elaborate, frenetic style, and her eyes were ringed with smudged dark makeup. A thousand bracelets clattered on the counter every time she moved, and she wore a dark boxy t-shirt with the cuffs rolled up to her shoulders. It was a far cry from that stupid Scoops Ahoy outfit; Robin looked almost… normal.

Her nametag read RUBY.

“Good evening, Wheeler Junior,” Robin drawled. “Not out and about with your crime-fighting pals tonight?”

Ignoring her, Mike gestured to her nametag. “What’s the deal?”

Without looking down, she said, “It makes me uncomfortable when strangers act like they know me.”

That made sense. “Okay.” Mike turned his head towards the horror section but watched her in his peripheral vision. Abruptly, he asked: “Since when do you work here, anyway?”

“Since last week. I can’t believe I traded ice cream for popcorn when all along my calling was in film and video entertainment.” She blinked once, languidly, like a cat, and smiled ironically. “It’s bananas.”

“Yeah,” Mike replied, glancing at the kung-fu movie playing on the television behind her and the stained olive-green carpet. “Totally.”

Robin gestured with her chin. “So, Wheeler Junior, what’s your poison?”

“What?”

“What movies do you like?” Narrowing her eyes, she studied him for a long moment. “You strike me as a science fiction kind of guy. I would be delighted to let you know that we have in stock the latest George Lucas masterpiece.” Taking in Mike’s expression, she dropped into a meaningful undertone and added: “Four copies of it.”

Mike goggled. “You have _Return of the Jedi_?”

“Correct.”

“But it only came out last year!”

“See, that’s the magic of modern technology,” Robin said breezily. “It just does cool stuff.”

Realising she was teasing him, Mike rolled his eyes, though he was surprised to realise he was smiling. Robin’s light eyes wrinkled at the corners when she grinned.

“You can take it out whenever you want. Just remember...” She pointed to the sign above her head, which span slowly in the air-conditioning: it was a yellow smiley face that said _Please be kind and rewind!_

Raising one eyebrow, Mike dropped his gaze back to her. “Got it,” he replied drily.

As he made to walk past the counter, Robin suddenly said, “Hey, did you enjoy your movie?”

His pulse skipped a beat. Hesitating, Mike turned around to study her expression. There wasn’t anything to imply she was making fun of him this time. If anything, Robin looked mildly curious, maybe guarded. Or hopeful? Oh, who knew – girls were so hard to read.

“Um…” Unaided, the memory of Will in the darkness came to mind. A stuttering blink, a smile. Then, that quicksilver glance at Mike’s mouth. Tightening the grip on his backpack strap, Mike affected an air of nonchalance. “Oh! Yeah, right, the movie. Yeah, it was super cool. Thanks again for spotting me the tickets. And the snacks.”

Shit – the snacks! Clicking his fingers, Mike pointed at Robin, who immediately drew back and widened her eyes.

Wryly, she remarked, “Is that thing loaded?”

“The snacks!” Mike repeated. “I forgot to ask. I was going to come and see you, but it slipped my mind… Uh, did you want me to pay for, like, the tickets and the food? I realised it was kind of uncool to just take them from you without asking first. Here, I have – money –” Taking off his backpack and swinging it onto the counter, Mike promptly unzipped it and started digging for his wallet. Robin raised her hands in surrender as Mike ripped apart the Velcro fastener and began counting coins. “I have… I’m pretty sure I have like, at least five dollars…”

“Mike. Mike!” Frowning, he looked up. Robin smiled gently. “It’s okay,” she said, “really. Think of it as a present. Or a reward, for putting up with dingus for so long.”

“I… really?”

“Yes. Really.” She gestured to his wallet and said, “Plus, you’re broke. And I’d feel weird taking money from someone who uses Velcro.”

Mike turned his frown to his wallet. “What’s wrong with it?”

Robin made a _Oh, dear_ face. “So much, Wheeler Junior. So, so much.”

Mike narrowed his eyes at her, but she just blinked again, Zen as a Jedi. He studied her for a beat before shrugging and putting his wallet away. “Alright. Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.” Robin watched him zip up his backpack. “Enjoy sampling the wares. Sci-fi is up the back, by the way.”

“Thanks,” Mike echoed. He shot her a smile and started into the stacks, swinging his backpack on as he did so.

The sci-fi section called him like a homing beacon. Mike glanced reluctantly at it as he passed.

The back of the store was directly beneath the air conditioning system: waves of arctic air swept over Mike, drying out his eyes and making him squint. Hunching his shoulders against the cold, he began nosing down the horror aisle, one hand on the strap of his backpack.

Robin was right – there were a lot of new releases, more than Mike expected. He realised he hadn’t been to the video store in ages, probably not since last year. After Halloween and the whole mess with the Mind Flayer and the tunnels, he and Will spent a lot of time down in Mike’s basement, watching movie after movie. But then, of course, El, and summer, and Starcourt… and going into downtown Hawkins just to rent some videos suddenly seemed childish. Now that he was back, Mike wished he’d never left. Idly, he picked up a copy of _Dawn of the Dead,_ thinking at first it was the film they saw at the cinema.

Sticking it under one arm, he continued down the aisle. There was a lanky teenager on the other side of the stacks. As Mike came closer, he glanced up, and they held each other’s gaze for a pronounced moment. He and Mike must have been the same age, but Mike didn’t recognise him. Messy blonde hair tangled around a tanned, heavily freckled face, and the t-shirt he wore looked a size too small. Pale green eyes stared at him, then darted away. The guy picked up a video box and turned away, walking quickly through the stacks to the counter at the far end of the store.

Realising he was staring, Mike abruptly dropped his gaze and inspected at the orange cover of _Don’t Look Now._

A feeling, not entirely uncomfortable, had gathered in his lower back and made his neck warm. Mike swallowed and absently scratched his head. Maybe the guy was new to Hawkins? It was possible he’d moved just before the new semester started. Frowning to himself – and electing to ignore the same itchy feeling he got when he saw Michael J. Fox or that guy who worked at the Hawkins movie theatre – Mike continued down the aisle.

Picking the movies for the Party was harder than he expected. In the end, Mike chose _The Hills Have Eyes, Firestarter, Fear No Evil,_ and, on impulse, an R-rated film called _Night Warning_ , which he vaguely remembered his parents forbidding him from watching on pain of death.

As casually as he could, Mike started towards the counter. The guy had left – only Robin and another customer remained. He smiled briefly at Robin and stacked the boxes in front of her.

“This is quite the enterprise,” she remarked, and Mike said, “Yeah, we’re doing a movie night. School starts on Monday.”

Wincing in commiseration, she said, “Ouch. Glad that’s not me.” Robin waggled her computer mouse to pull it from sleep mode and clicked through to the employee login. Interested, Mike watched over her shoulder. She glanced back at him. “You excited to go back?”

Thinking of the argument with his parents, Mike flattened his mouth. “Normally yes. But it’s my first year of high school, and –”

“No! Oh, shit.” Robin’s eyes were eerily blue when she widened them. “I didn’t know. In that case, please accept my sincere condolences.”

Despite himself, Mike laughed. “Thanks. I’ll need them. Does this mean you won’t get mad if my returns are late?”

Robin picked up the scanner and aimed it at him, closing one eye to better her pretend shot. “Not a chance, bucko.”

“At least I tried,” Mike joked. Smirking, Robin lowered the scanner and pulled the boxes towards her and began to open them. “Where’s Steve?” he added. “Is he still working at the theatre?”

“Unfortunately,” Robin replied vaguely, concentrating, “our Steve was fired. But I’m trying to get him another job.”

Mike wondered fleetingly if Dustin knew about that – he had a feeling the answer was no. Frowning, he said, “Fired? What for?”

“Beats me.” Robin had pulled out the drawers from beneath the counter, looking for the corresponding cassette tapes. “He’ll land on his feet, though. He is… a peculiarly lucky guy. Aha!” Victorious, she found one cassette and put it on the counter.

“It’s nice you’re helping him look for another job,” Mike commented. “Dustin said his dad pulled a favour to get him into Scoops.”

Robin grunted in interest. “The seedy underbelly of Hawkins middle-managers strikes again. Then again, he was so very bad at scooping. That does explain a lot. Here you go.” She pushed the stack of videos across the counter. “Give me your card.”

Mike handed over his mom’s customer card and started shovelling videos into his backpack. Robin tapped at the computer, scanned the card, and gave it back to Mike when he was ready. “There you are,” she said lightly, “‘Karen’ Wheeler.”

Colour rose in his cheeks. “I lost mine,” he lied.

“I know,” Robin sympathised. When Mike rolled his eyes and made to leave, she said, “By the way, did your friend like the movie?”

Why did she keep asking about _Fright Night_? Something must have flashed in his expression, because Robin raised her eyebrows and gently added, “I was just asking, Mike. You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”

“No, I –” Mike blinked in confusion and frowned. “Uh, it was fine. He liked it – a lot. Horror is his favourite.”

“I remember,” Robin remarked. “You said.”

Embarrassed, he shrugged. “Oh.”

There was an awkward pause. Mike stared blindly at the stands of candy bars and junk food. In his peripheral vision, he noticed Robin peeling at a corner of the counter’s plastic counter with one thumbnail, as if it were a nervous tic. When he glanced up, she quickly looked away to the computer screen.

“I better get back to work,” she said, slightly too loud, and Mike grasped onto the lifeline: “Oh! Yeah, sure. Sorry. See you later.”

He walked backwards for a step or two before turning and hurrying through the sliding glass doors. As if passing through a portal, the cool, air-conditioned air vanished, and the humid early evening clasped his arms and legs. Mike fidgeted with the straps of his backpack all the way to his bike, frowning at the concrete.

* * *

Once Mike arrived back home, dusk had fallen. The basements windows were thrown open against the muggy evening air, and the cries of crickets mingled with the distant sound of the neighbours grilling. Mike’s mom had thoughtfully put together some food for them, which Mike saw once he’d returned to the basement.

Through a mouth of potato salad, Dustin said, “Your mom is the best!”

“Yeah,” Mike muttered, looking suspiciously over the spread of salad, burgers, and other assorted snacks. “I guess.”

As he took off his backpack and toed off his sneakers, Lucas said, “So, what’d you pick? And if it’s _Alien_ again, I’m leaving.”

“We settled on horror,” Will reminded him from the couch. His legs were crossed with a plate balanced on one knee. When he noticed Mike watching him, he grinned, his cheeks flushed slightly in the heat. “At least, I thought we did.”

“I kept my promise!” Mike protested. Pulling his eyes away from Will’s warm, affectionate expression, he focused on pulling videos out of his bag. One by one Lucas, then Dustin and Will, grabbed them and exclaimed.

“Nice work, Mike, you went all out!” Dustin handed _Firestarter_ to Will, who took it with interest. “These look scary as hell.”

Grinning, Mike spread his hands and affected a theatrical stance. “Thank you. I do my best.”

Lucas aimed a kick at him. “Yeah, yeah. We gotta watch them first.”

“I swear,” Mike said, loading up a plate and throwing himself into an armchair, “these are going to freak us all out. I read the blurbs and everything.”

“R-rated,” Dustin mused, holding up _Night Warning_ and grinning, “good call.”

Mike mimed another round of thanks.

“Did they have the new _Day of the Dead_?” Will asked him, spearing a potato with a fork. “I barely remember it.”

Mike ate his burger in two bites and immediately thought about having another. “They didn’t,” he replied thickly, still chewing, “I looked for it, ‘cause I know you’d like it, but I guess it’s too new.”

Dustin cracked open a can of root beer. “Man, you know what I’d see again? _Return of the Jedi._ I swear I think about that Death Star final scene, like, daily.”

“I love the beginning, when Luke first finds C-3PO,” Will commented. “He made me laugh so much.”

“They have it,” Mike tried. When Lucas made a face and said, “Will you _please_ learn to chew?” Mike swallowed and said, “They have it.”

As one, the Party exclaimed: “ _What_?!”

Feeling self-satisfied, Mike grinned. “Yeah. Robin told me.”

“Wait,” Lucas said, as Dustin and Will broke into excited chatter, “Robin? Movie theatre Robin?”

“Yeah,” Mike replied, suddenly involved in forking through his salad. “She works there now. It’s no big deal.”

Lucas continued to frown. “But what about Steve?”

As if picking up an intergalactic ping, Dustin perked up. “Steve? What about Steve?”

Mike looked up to see Dustin watching him expectantly. He rolled his eyes and shrugged with one shoulder. “Nothing. Okay? Robin left the theatre and she’s working at the video store. And apparently Steve got fired.”

“That sucks,” Will remarked, frowning, and Mike remembered what he’d said about Jonathan.

“Yeah,” Mike echoed. “It does.”

“Steve,” Dustin repeated. “Like, Harrington. Steve Harrington.”

“How many other Steves can there be?” Lucas burst.

Waving a hand in Lucas’ face, Dustin continued to stare at Mike, his expression shifting from surprise to outright concern. Mike had seen that expression often this summer: privately, it was what he called Dustin’s ‘mother hen’ look. The thought made Mike pinch back a smirk.

“You’re saying,” Dustin said slowly, “that Steve got _fired_ from his job?”

Mike looked between Lucas, who was unimpressed, and Will, whose eyebrows were raised. “Yeah,” Mike said. After a beat, he shrugged again. “What about it?”

The words had barely left Mike’s mouth when Dustin was heaving up off the couch and putting his plate on the coffee table.

“Gentlemen,” Dustin murmured, “excuse me, but I have to attend to this emergency.”

“Where are you going?” Will asked, watching Dustin bustle towards the stairs. At the same time, Lucas said, “Man, sit down, Steve’ll survive without you.”

Dustin paused, one hand on the banister. He surveyed them. “We don’t know that,” he intoned. And he hurried upstairs, the door slamming behind him.

Lucas immediately threw up his hands and turned to Mike and Will. “What the hell! It’s movie night! Where does he think he’s going?”

Listening to a distant burble of conversation, Will vaguely said, “I think he’s calling Steve.”

Sharing Lucas’ expression of dismay and mild outrage, Mike griped, “You mean I biked all the way downtown for nothing?”

“Maybe not,” Will tried. “I mean, Lucas and I are still here. We’re staying.”

“He thinks he’s Steve’s nanny,” Lucas muttered to his burger. Then, glancing at Will, he added in a normal tone, “Hell yeah, I’m staying. School starts on Monday. Who knows when we’ll next have freedom?”

Mike pointed his fork at Lucas. “Exactly.”

“It might not be too bad,” Will said, putting his empty plate beside Dustin’s and reaching for his can of soda. “The study group idea means we’ll be on top of everything, at least.”

From the kitchen upstairs came the sound of Mike’s mom’s laugh: she always liked Dustin.

Mike sank back in his chair. A warm breeze stirred the room, making the gauzy curtains shift gently. He could hear the television, and Holly babbling to their dad. A passing car; the constant hum of crickets. At once, Mike felt the stupor of summer, and realised in the same breath that next week they would be consumed with class, lunch, the new politics of fitting in.

They must have shared this last thought because Lucas asked, “Are you guys going to join any clubs?”

Mike and Will traded a look. Will had brought one knee up against his chest, loosely holding the soda can where it balanced on his opposite thigh. The fading sunlight that filtered through the high windows caught him in the first sigh of evening: dark-fringed eyes, blinking slowly against the light; the way his fringe parted over his forehead; the softness of his neck where it met his t-shirt. Something in Mike’s chest seized, quite fiercely, and, unbidden, he thought, _Oh._

“…Would be cool. Mike?”

Will tilted his head to one side. “Did you hear me?”

Alarmed, Mike started out of his reverie. He glanced at Lucas, who was frowning, and returned to Will, who said, “I said I might join the art club, if they have one. I don’t know, though.”

“Oh, right,” Mike commented, hoping he sounded with it. “Yeah. Cool. Uh, I haven’t thought about it… at all, really.” Thinking of Robin’s blue employee login page, Mike added, “Maybe computer club?”

“You would be so good in that!” Will replied, and Mike flushed under his attention. Sipping his soda, Will leaned back against the cushions, and looked between him and Lucas. “Hey, can you imagine if they had a D&D club?”

“Get out of here,” Lucas scoffed, and Mike half-laughed: “No way would they have a D&D club.”

“They might,” Will said brightly. “It’s really popular. Just because no one in middle school played it doesn’t mean _no one_ in Hawkins does.”

Lucas shook his head. “Not possible. I think we’d know if there was another Party around.”

“Yeah,” Mike said defensively. “There’s no way.”

Will shrugged, undeterred. “Well… I mean, I wouldn’t join another Party. Obviously. But I still think it’s a cool idea.”

Mike remembered the conversation he and Will had a few weeks ago in his bedroom. _I’m tired of liking things other people say I should._ Mike met Will’s gaze.

Firmly, Mike announced: “I’d go with you.”

“What?” Lucas’ frown deepened and, bemused, he said: “But we have all the Party we need, right here. Why would you hang out with another one?”

“It wouldn’t have to be like that.” Mike turned to Lucas and shrugged. “Will’s right. It _would_ be cool to discuss tactics and campaign ideas with people who actually know what they’re talking about.”

Will nodded. “Exactly.”

Lucas raised his hands. “Alright, I know when I’m wrong. But, seriously, first week of high school _and_ joining a D&D club?” As if they were Martians, he looked helplessly between them. “Are you trying to have a repeat of middle school?”

Dismissively, Mike said, “You’re being dramatic,” although the same thought had crossed his mind.

Lucas looked unimpressed. “Uh, not really. You remember _The_ _Breakfast Club_ right?”

Mike raised his eyebrows. “And?”

“ _And,_ ” Lucas continued, “we have to ask ourselves: do we want to be nerds forever? Look.” He shifted forward and rested his elbows on his knees, clasping his hands in front of him. Looking pointedly at Mike and Will, Lucas said, “I’m being serious. I know we sort of went over this in July, but this is different. We’re going to be _freshmen._ We’ve got a chance to reinvent ourselves if we want to. It’ll be a totally different world from middle school.”

“What about what Dustin said?” Mike asked. Lucas looked at him as if he were stupid.

“One, Dustin isn’t right about everything,” Lucas retorted. “And two, being a ‘nerd’ is not forever in our DNA. Don’t get me wrong,” he added, noticing Will’s expression. “We can still like all the same stuff. That doesn’t have to change. But we don’t have to be outsiders. Not anymore.”

“Oh, yeah?” Will’s voice was slightly hoarse, and a furrow had appeared between his brows. “What makes you say that? Because I’m always going to be a freak. And I don’t care.”

“I’m not saying that,” Lucas said patiently. “All I’m saying is that we have a chance to fit in, if we want to.”

“What’s so great about fitting in?” Mike muttered.

“If there’s a D&D club, I’m joining.” Will’s tone brooked no argument.

Sensing he’d lost this round, Lucas’ lips thinned but he leaned back, lifting his hands in a gesture of submission. Upstairs, Dustin’s voice rose to an excited pitch. Mike’s dad turned up the volume of the television. _“In related news, President Reagan today announced…”_

“Will?” Lucas was frowning, concerned. “You OK?”

Mike looked at Will, who took another sip of soda. “Yeah,” he replied. “I’m fine.”

Lucas tried to share a glance with Mike, but he studiously dropped his eyes and pretended to be absorbed in his salad. In his peripheral vision, Mike noticed as Lucas’ expression fell into something approaching tired resignation.

Maybe Lucas _was_ right. Maybe they could reinvent themselves. But Mike wasn’t like Lucas, who, in his Karate Kid bandana, struck a different chord from the rest of them. If Dustin were here, he wouldn’t have even bothered to listen. That was something Mike appreciated about Dustin: he knew who he was. But Mike didn’t know who he was. Not really, not after this summer. The problem with reinventing yourself was you had to have a strong foundation to begin with.

As he glumly finished his potato salad, Mike furtively glanced at Will. He was gazing up and out the window, soda can poised on one knee, a slight furrow between his brows. Mike didn’t think Will was upset with Lucas, although he suspected Will felt like this was a repeat of their argument in July. It was becoming clearer that they were all becoming different people, with different trajectories. In an alternate dimension, Mike didn’t have trouble imagining Lucas and Max as twin heads of a popular if unconventional group: not prom king and queen, exactly, but alternative evolutions. Dustin would always be valedictorian-bound. Will was too much like Jonathan: quiet, creative, on the fringe. But he too had a burning sense of who he was and what he enjoyed.

They were all different to Mike. He hadn’t thought about what freshman year would be like, and now he realised how serious a mistake this was. What _was_ he going to do? Continue like middle school, minding his own business, focused on English, AV-orientated and fantasy-minded? Or was it like Lucas said: a chance to change?

Even as Mike struggled to imagine what this change would look like, there remained a central problem. Nerd Mike or Normal Mike… he wasn’t like Lucas, Dustin, or Will. They, at least, had the safe knowledge that no matter what their social status, they liked girls. By now, Mike could at least tentatively acknowledge that he, very strongly, did not.

Nerd Mike and Normal Mike had one thing in common. No matter the dimension, he was always going to be… That. You know. The word.

Mike barely tasted his salad as he finished it. Putting his plate on the table, he sighed and slumped back in his chair, and observed his friends.

Lucas was reading the back of the video boxes, his onyx eyes moving quickly over the blurbs. Will had curled back into himself, the soda can still in one hand, gazing unseeingly as he traced a circle around a kneecap with his index finger.

The basement had slipped into semi-darkness as they talked, and now the room was suffused in a warm gloom. Mike got up and began turning on lamps, which illuminated the cosy, crowded space until it felt a little cheerier. As he began gathering plates to take upstairs, the basement door opened, and Dustin came clattering downstairs, already half-shouting in excitement.

“You guys will _never_ guess what –” His footsteps stopped. Mike turned around, holding the Party’s plates. Dustin looked at them one by one. “What’s happened?” he asked suspiciously.

“Nothing much,” Mike replied coolly. “Only Lucas thinks we can shed our nerd DNA and reinvent ourselves like that goth chick in _The_ _Breakfast Club_. Isn’t that right?” Lucas gaped at him. “Like social metamorphosis or something.”

“That is so not what –” Lucas noticed Mike’s smirk. “You _bastard_.”

“Nearly had you though,” Mike teased – and to his immense relief, he heard Will laugh behind him.

Puzzled, Dustin resumed descending the stairs. “Okay… back to our regularly scheduled programming.” He paused dramatically. “I called Steve.”

“Hooray,” Lucas deadpanned. Mike laughed and shared a grin with Lucas.

“Shut up. I called Steve, and it turns out his manager is a hu-u-u-ge asshole. He’s doing okay, though. Steve, not the manager. Robin’s helping him find a job but with his dad finding out and everything…” Dustin frowned. “Are you listening to me?”

Mike tore himself from rearranging the forks. “What? Yeah.”

Narrowing his eyes, Dustin said, “I’m sensing tension.”

“Maybe it’s your Jedi mind powers,” Mike remarked, and Will added, “It’s nothing. Don’t worry about it.”

“Are you sure?” Moving over to the couch, Dustin dropped down beside Will and looked between them all. “I’m in mediation mode, so if there’s anything I can assist with…”

Lucas shook his head, although he was smiling. “You’re good, dude.”

“Alright. So.” Clapping his hands together and rubbing them, Dustin grinned. “What are we watching first?”

Before Lucas and Dustin started bickering, Mike loudly said, “I’m taking this upstairs.” To his surprise, Will got to his feet and shot him a smile.

“I’ll help you,” he said, as Lucas and Dustin’s conversation rose in pitch. “I don’t mind what we start with.”

Despite himself, Mike flushed, then internally berated himself for doing so. “Thanks.”

With Will’s help, they dispersed the empty plates and serving platters between them, then started upstairs.

Mike’s parents were, indeed, in the living room, watching TV. It sounded like _Dysnasty,_ if his mom’s intermittent gasps were anything to go by. As they passed the living room archway, Mike noticed his dad was already asleep on the La-Z-Boy, mouth wide open. Holly was curled into their mother’s side, sucking her thumb. She watched them with huge blue eyes, the screen flickering over her face.

“You can leave those here, if you want.” Mike put his pile on the counter and opened the door to the dishwasher. “I’ll do this really quickly.”

“That’s okay,” Will replied, and smiled again when their gaze met. “I don’t mind.”

Together, they wordlessly stacked the dishwasher, half-listening to the episode in the other room. Once finished, Mike hunted through the pantry for some extra snacks; when he found a pack of microwave popcorn, he held it up to Will, who nodded and whispered, “Definitely.”

It was nice, being alone together. Even though they were just in Mike’s kitchen, standing silently so as not to disturb his mom’s show, watching the microwave whirr, there was something simple and good about it. Mike wished his fringe were back so he could watch Will undetected. As it was, he had to settle for casual glances that only satisfied glimpses of Will’s calm demeanour.

When the popcorn was finished, Will poured it into a bowl, and mimed smacking Mike’s hand when he tried to sneak a kernel. In the half-light of the kitchen, illuminated only by the hallway lamp, Will’s mischievous grin made Mike’s pulse quicken.

“C’mon,” Mike pleaded in an undertone, “they won’t notice.”

“Fine,” Will whispered, “go ahead. But if you get caught for practically stealing food from Dustin’s _bare_ _hands_ , I won’t defend you.”

Mike’s bark of laughter coincided with the shrill start of the commercial break.

“Crap,” he said. “Let’s go. I don’t want to see my mom.”

Will carried the bowl out into the hall, Mike following close behind. As they passed back past the living room, he felt his mom’s eyes on him. Something tinkled: her bracelet against her wineglass. Mike stared at the back of Will’s neck until they were safely in the clear.

Together they turned the corner, and the sound from the television muffled. Mike exhaled and, in the same motion, took a fortifying handful of popcorn.

Will glanced at him. “Hey, is everything okay?” When Mike frowned at him, Will added, “With your mom.”

“Oh.” Mike wrinkled his nose and ate some popcorn. “Yeah. It’s… Whatever. Stupid.”

“Are you sure?” Will asked gently. “Did you have a fight, or something?”

He was never good at lying to Will. “Yeah,” Mike replied, dropping his eyes to stare at the carpet. “We – I… It’s kind of a long story.”

They arrived at the closed basement door. Will turned around and levelled Mike with his trademark patient look. “I have time,” he offered. “Maybe not now. Or tonight, even. But if you want to talk about it…”

Before he even thought about it, Mike said: “Yeah, I do. Thanks, Will.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” Will replied, though he smiled warmly. “And yeah, of course. Whenever you want.”

“Maybe tomorrow?” Mike knew, logically, that they had to go back to the others. But for a brief, swollen moment, it felt like they could stand here forever, suffused by the smell of hot popcorn and his mom’s patchouli, just him and Will, watching each other.

“Sure.” Will’s smile pinched at the corner, and Mike wondered fleetingly what it would be like to kiss him there. “I’d like that.”

For a confused moment, Mike thought Will meant he’d like Mike to kiss him, and colour rushed to his face. Then, he remembered it was all in his head, and he blinked rapidly to bring himself under control.

“Great,” Mike managed, sounding strangled. “Cool.”

Will half-turned, as if to go down into the basement, but before he did, to Mike’s utter surprise, something akin to teasing flashed in Will’s eyes; and, as if he were commenting on a new pair of pants, he lightly said, “You’re blushing.”

Was he in an alternate dimension after all? Mike forced himself to laugh and sounded manic. “Am I? I mean, it’s like, really hot in here. I should… turn the air-con on. Or something.”

Will shifted the popcorn bowl into one hand so he could open the basement door. “Sure,” he repeated, sounding wry, that teasing look dimpling his smile and making Mike swallow. “Or something.”

Mike managed to gather enough brain cells to follow Will down the stairs, blindly thumping in the near-dark, gazing at the back of Will’s neck and the soft hair that brushed the top of his t-shirt. He hadn’t realised he was frowning in thought until they reached the basement, and Lucas said, “Dude, don’t tell me it’s food poisoning again.”

Dustin and Will turned to look at him, Will’s smile fading. Mike’s glance flickered over Will before lading on Lucas. He shook his head quickly and pasted on a smile.

“No, I’m good. Thanks, though.”

“Sure.” Lucas shrugged, then looked eagerly at Will. He held out his hands for the bowl of popcorn and grinned. “Sustenance!”

“Don’t scarf it all,” Will complained, handing it over. Dustin leaped to his feet and hurried to Lucas, who promptly lifted the bowl away from Dustin’s reach.

“Get in line,” Lucas goaded, and Dustin groaned, “Man, c’mon! Popcorn sanctions are _cruel_!”

Ignoring Dustin and Lucas as they squabbled over the bowl, Mike quickly scanned the seating arrangements. The television was plugged in and someone had pulled it closer to the coffee table, the cord trailing over the goldenrod shag. VHS cassettes littered the carpet in front of the screen, which displayed the SMPTE bars and was emitting a low sine wave. The old, battered couch sagged opposite. Will had taken up his usual place by the right arm, legs tucked beneath him, one cushion held loosely over his lap. Next to the couch was an armchair, and beside that a bean bag. A lamp in the corner cast a warm glow over the scene.

Mike fidgeted, still frowning. It was only when Dustin at last emerged with a portion of popcorn and made to sit beside Will that Mike practically jumped over the coffee table and flung himself onto the couch.

Pulling up short, Dustin shot him a look of utter betrayal. Mike made a face and said, “What?”

“Very nice,” Dustin muttered, “kicking me out of my spot, such a gentleman…”

He turned around to find Lucas in the armchair. Grinning at Dustin’s outraged exclamation, Lucas said, “Guess you’re bag boy.”

“I don’t believe this!” Dustin seethed, stomping over to the bean bag. “Talk about a frickin’ knife in the back!”

“Hey,” Will called to Lucas, “pass us the popcorn.”

Lucas reluctantly handed the bowl to Mike, who passed it to Will. “Sharing is caring,” Lucas reminded them, and Mike loftily said, “Yeah, we’ll see.”

Before Lucas could interject, Mike pitched his voice louder and asked: “So, what are we watching?”

“ _The Hills Have Eyes_ ,” Dustin replied through a mouthful. He was slumped comfortably in the beanbag, sneakers and Camp Know Where cap off, feet kicked up on the TV stand. “Thought we’d ease in with a stone-cold classic.”

“A ‘stone-cold’ classic?” Lucas scoffed. “Puh-lease. If you want crazy desert people classics, try _The Texas Chain Saw Massacre._ ” He leaned forward and stole some of Dustin’s popcorn. “That, man, is a real classic.”

Tuning out of the ensuing conversation, Mike shifted around to get comfortable. He ended up propping his long legs across the coffee table and wedging a cushion into his left side. Will’s socked feet dug into his right, but he didn’t mind. When Will mumbled, “Oh, sorry,” Mike glanced at him and smiled.

“No, it’s comfortable,” he replied. “Are you OK? I have a blanket here if you want it.”

Turning his head to look at Mike, Will smiled gently and shook his head. “I’m OK. You’re right: it is warm down here.”

Electing to ignore the clamminess in his palms, Mike said, “Yeah, I know. My dad says getting air-con down here would be a massive waste of money. Like he’d know. He’s never down here, anyway.” He reached over and grabbed a handful of popcorn. Will tilted the bowl towards him; they shared a smile.

Twisting in his seat, Dustin said, “Alright, enough of that. You guys ready?”

Mike grinned and glanced at Will, whose smile widened as he nodded happily. “So ready!”

“Start it up, captain,” Mike ordered, throwing kernels into the air to catch them in his mouth. As Dustin fiddled around with the VHS player, popcorn scattered over the couch and Will, half-laughing, complained, “Mike, you’re spilling it everywhere.”

“I’m trying!” He threw up another handful and only managed to catch two in his mouth. Holding up his hands in victory, Will applauded.

“Impressive,” Will teased. “Hey, maybe you should join the drama club instead.”

Feeling Lucas’ eyes on him, Mike pretended to consider the prospect. “D&D _and_ drama… Huh. D’you reckon that would be a plus-twenty buff? Or would that jeopardise my evolution from caterpillar to social butterfly?”

Will burst out laughing. Lucas rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t stop himself from grinning.

“Yeah, yeah,” he drawled, “very funny.”

Will’s laughter was infectious. A hot, pleasurable happiness bloomed in Mike’s chest, and he grinned broadly as Will held a hand over his mouth, eyes crinkling at the corners. Their gaze snagged. Mike’s breath caught in his throat.

“Oh, come on,” Mike replied, at last looking away from Will to Lucas. “That was pretty freaking funny.”

Lucas narrowed his eyes and pinched the air, miming how little he thought of Mike’s comedic talent. “That’s how funny, Michael. Just that.”

“Damn VHS!” Dustin cursed. He smacked the side of the TV. “Piece… of… absolute… Hey, we’re on!” Delighted, he leaned back with his hands up, and the rest of them cheered. Onscreen, in red lettering, it read RATED R.

Scrambling back to his bean bag, Dustin exclaimed, “Ohmygod, this is going to be _so_ good!”

“Shut up!” Lucas hissed, and Will shushed them both.

When Lucas, without looking away from the screen, motioned with one hand for the popcorn bowl, Mike took it from Will and handed it over. He settled back against the couch cushions.

As he did so, he realised he had leaned further into Will’s personal space, with Will’s feet pressed against Mike’s ribs, and Mike’s right elbow propped on the cushion in Will’s lap. With his eyes on the television, Mike surreptitiously tried to shift away just enough to give them some space.

An elbow nudged him. Stilling, Mike turned his head to look up at Will, who tilted his head down and murmured: “Do you want to swap spaces?”

“No,” Mike replied quickly, loud enough that Dustin said, without looking away from the TV, “Quiet in the back!”

Mike threw a face at the back of Dustin’s head, then glanced back at Will. They were unnervingly close to one another. “No,” he repeated in an undertone. “Sorry, I’m good. I thought I should move over…”

Will blinked once, eyelashes soft and dusty in the low lamplight. “It’s okay,” he murmured. “I… I don’t mind.”

Something passed between them. Frowning gently, Mike whispered, “Really?”

“Yes!” When Will grinned, dimples appeared in his cheeks. “Now shut up, we’re missing it.”

Mike stuck his tongue out, and Will rolled his eyes, still grinning. Together, they turned back to the television, which showed a slow pan across a long, deserted plain. Will was warm against him. Half of Mike’s mind was on the movie; the rest of it was focused on the press of Will’s feet in his side, and the gentle sense of his breathing. Mike’s right elbow just touched Will’s calf; he vaguely registered how Will’s leg hair just tickled him.

For the next few hours, Mike left his worries behind. The Party watched _The Hills Have Eyes_ with parted mouths, and when the Beast tore out Pluto’s throat, they jumped in unison. Dustin screamed; Will grabbed Mike’s forearm. When the credits started to roll over a stark desert landscape, Mike slumped back in his seat as if he’d run a marathon.

As Dustin leaned forward to press the mute button on the TV, Lucas exhaled loudly and exclaimed, “Holy shit, what the fuck, Mike!”

Startled, Mike said, “What? Why me?”

Lucas gestured at the TV. “That was fucking crazy!”

“That was amazing,” Will enthused. He grinned brilliantly at Mike. “Those special effects were so realistic!”

“I think I had three heart attacks,” Dustin muttered, and to Lucas Mike smugly said, “Guess my taste in movies _is_ top quality, after all.”

“Hold your horses. We’ve got three more.” Lucas held the side of his head, weak in admiration. “ _Man_ , that was good.”

Mike yawned hard enough to crack his jaw. Beside him, Will unwound his legs and stood up to stretch. “What’s next?” Will asked, as Dustin scooped the remaining kernels from the popcorn bowl, and Lucas massaged his temples.

“First, I gotta pee.” Getting to his feet, Mike picked up the bowl (“Hey!” Dustin complained). To everyone, Mike said, “Do you guys want anything?”

“Doritos,” Lucas replied immediately. “I need to carb-load for the next movie.”

“Chocolate?” Will asked.

“Got it.” Mike picked his way through the mess of sneakers, sweaters, and soda cans. “Don’t start without me!”

It was eight thirty once they finished _The Hills Have Eyes,_ then a little after ten when the credits of _Firestarter_ rolled. They took turns to pilfer the Wheelers’ pantry, returning after every film with more snacks or drinks, and, once the temperature dropped and the world outside was completely black, Mike returned with sweaters and rolled-up pairs of extra socks. The basement became a den: Dustin, sprawled on the bean bag and surrounded by debris; Lucas, all legs on the armchair; and Mike and Will on the couch, half-tangled in each other as they stretched out over cushions and the coffee table. Despite the terrifying films, a deep sense of contentment settled in Mike’s chest. Even when Dustin screamed and threw popcorn everywhere, or when Lucas swore hard enough to make even Mike gape, there was something nostalgic about the evening, like this really was the last hurrah before school.

But – Will.

The basement wasn’t the movie theatre. Mike didn’t feel the same sense of furtive urgency that he had during _Fright Night._ But Will burned in his peripheral vision. It was as if a percent of Mike’s brain was attuned to Will’s every movement, each flicker or stir. In the bruised basement gloom, interrupted by a solitary lamp draped with a sheet (“For atmosphere,” Will explained), Will’s presence magnified in Mike’s imagination until he half-thought that Will was pressing closer on purpose: feet nudging, elbows bumping, and, during at least four jump scares, grabbing in Mike’s direction, as if for reassurance. Maybe in this cocoon Mike could be forgiven for thinking that Will… needed him. In some way, no matter how small. That maybe, when the lights were out and they were alone in the dark, normal rules did not apply. That in basements and movie theatres they could reach for each other without hesitation, without fear. At least, that was how it was for Mike. Will didn’t have to worry about people thinking he was anything other than an entirely ordinary guy who liked girls.

But in the darkness, Mike was safe.


	23. Chapter 23

Mike awoke slowly.

His surroundings faded into being. A _Star Wars_ poster; his nightstand; the stars stuck on the ceiling. Mike registered the mingled taste of toothpaste and sugary soda, and how his back and neck ached from inactivity. Warm sweat gathered in his pits and the crook of his elbows. Squeezing his eyes closed for a moment longer, Mike felt the vestige of a dream lap in his mind. When he opened his eyes, his room was less fuzzy. Silver-blue light touched the walls. Distant deep breathing. And his hand, which was holding something.

Mike slowly turned his head on the pillow, his curls obscuring his field of vision. His right hand was outstretched beyond the lip of what he recognised as his sleeping bag. His fingers were interlaced with someone else’s. Then he blinked again, and he recognised the birthmark on Will’s left wrist. They were holding hands.

Will was out of sight in Mike’s bed, though his left arm dangled over the side of the bed and their clasped hands nearly touched the carpet. Mike’s right arm ached, probably from such an awkward position. His hand was cold.

Maybe he could let go without Will noticing?

Even as he thought about it, a feeling of resistance swelled within him, and he closed his eyes. _Had a bad dream._ He remembered a shifting dark shape and a muffled sound, which might have been a cry. _WillI’mhere._ Fingers resting against the pulse-point of his wrist. Tightening, then relaxing. Don’t worry. Hey, Will, I’m here. Okay?

“Mike?”

Mike jolted awake. His bedroom was flooded with bright, late summer sunlight, the curtains thrown open, dust motes spinning in the air. There was the sound of someone opening a window, and coolness cut through the stifling air.

Swallowing against his dry throat, Mike gradually became aware of people talking and moving around. His arm was outstretched, hand empty. He pulled his arm back into his sleeping bag and closed his eyes. _Just five more minutes…_

“Mike!”

“Shut up,” Mike muttered, pulling a blanket over his head. “I’m sleeping.”

Someone nudged his feet. Lucas’ voice said: “Get up, man.” When Mike didn’t move, Lucas added, “Dustin’s in the kitchen. He’s making pancakes.”

Mike sat bolt upright. “What?!”

Standing above him, Lucas laughed, hands on hips. “Idiot. Of course, Dustin’s not cooking. Your mom is. But not if you don’t get your ass out of bed, like, yesterday.”

“That’s a stupid saying,” Mike complained, falling back against his pillow, and screwing up his face.

“You’re stupid for taking so long,” Lucas retorted. He nudged Mike’s feet again. “C’mon, get up. We’ve showered and everything.”

That made him feel doubly disgusting. Groaning to himself, Mike slowly sat up and opened his eyes.

Aside from Lucas, his bedroom was empty. Sleeping bags were strewn over the floor and punctured by pieces of clothing: a spare sock, some sneakers, an open backpack. His bed was unmade but Will’s sneakers were by the door.

“Hey,” Mike said groggily, untangling himself from his nest, “where’s everyone else?”

Lucas didn’t look up from where he was packing things into a backpack. “Dustin’s downstairs,” he replied, “hitting on your mom. Will’s in the shower. You slept for ages. It’s like ten, or something.”

His brain loaded at a glacial rate. “Did we watch all the movies?”

“Believe it or not, we did.” Lucas threw him a grin and put on his bandana. “But I think I fell asleep after _Night Warning._ Man, that movie was gay.”

Mike stared at Lucas.

His throat swelled in panic. Swallowing with difficulty, Mike slowly got to his feet. He watched as Lucas examined himself in the mirror, tightening his bandana. Eventually, Mike tightly said, “What – what d’you mean?”

“I mean exactly that.” Satisfied, Lucas looked away from the mirror to focus on Mike. “It was gay. You know, like… two dudes.” He looked like he hoped he wouldn’t have to explain further.

“Oh.” Mechanically, Mike picked up his abandoned t-shirt and pulled it over his head. He didn’t know what to do with his hands. He distantly registered the bathroom fan turning off.

When Lucas started to step over the sleeping bags towards the door, Mike blurted: “In what way?”

“What?” Lucas’ face pinched. “ _You know_. I don’t know! The basketball coach was gay and his… whatever, boyfriend, partner, died, and the cop thought the coach was, like, _having it on_ with the main character…” Annoyed, he threw his hands up. “You get the picture.”

“I must have fallen asleep,” Mike heard himself say, and then, from far away, Lucas said, “Yeah, I wish I had.”

“Yeah.”

Lucas wrinkled his nose and shook his head. “I don’t get it,” he admitted, “but I guess if I did, I’d be…”

“Yeah,” Mike repeated, feeling hollow, “totally.”

“Exactly.” Abruptly, Lucas exhaled and shook his whole body, like someone had stood on his grave. “Too early in the morning for this. I’m heading down.” He left the room.

Mike listened to him thump down the carpeted stairs. The bathroom door opened and closed. He was still standing in the middle of his bedroom and staring at nothing when Will came in.

“Hey.” Will’s voice was just how Mike liked it best: sleep-warmed and slightly hoarse. He smiled at Mike as he went over to the bed, picking up his bag from the floor as he did so. He started folding his pyjamas.

“Hey.” Mike watched Will for a long, quiet moment. When Will zipped up his backpack, he glanced up and looked surprised to see Mike still standing there. He frowned.

“Are you okay? You look really weird.”

Blinking rapidly, Mike focused on Will. His face was creased with concern, his damp, fluffy hair parting over his forehead. In the honeyed morning light his eyes were almost hazel, and colour rose in his cheeks the longer Mike watched him. Will smiled lopsidedly and joked, “Do I have something on my face?”

“Oh. No.” Mike rubbed his face roughly. “Sorry. Half-asleep.”

“I hope you did sleep last night,” Will said, sounding apologetic. When Mike lowered his hand and frowned, Will added, “I had a nightmare. I hoped I wouldn’t. But I guess with the movies, and everything…”

Memories filtered through to him. “No, yeah,” Mike said, “you did. I think you woke me up.”

Will grimaced. “I’m sorry.”

“No,” Mike replied quickly. “It’s so fine. I don’t want – I didn’t want…” Despite the lingering discomfort with Lucas, Mike laughed tiredly at himself. “Sorry, I’m all messed up. I need coffee, or something.” Then, because Will still looked concerned, Mike said, “I don’t care that you woke me up. I hate it when you have nightmares.”

To his astonishment, Will flushed.

Without thinking, Mike smiled and said, “What? I do. It sucks. I just wish I could take them away from you, or, I don’t know, if I could have them instead. I don’t want you to have to suffer them alone.”

“I’m not alone,” Will said quietly. In the pause that followed, he dropped his gaze and fidgeted with the zipper on his backpack. When he looked back up and met Mike’s eyes, something like determination flickered in his expression. “Do you… do you remember last night?”

For the second time that morning, fright washed through him.

Mike opted for ignorance. “Uh… Remind me?”

Will licked his bottom lip and appeared to steel himself. “Last night. After I woke you up. I think you were trying to make me feel better… I remember you talking to me. Then you held my hand.” Shyly, he added, “I fell back asleep. So, you did help. A lot, actually.”

“Oh.” Why was Will telling him this? Was he afraid Mike would freak out? Carefully, Mike said, “Okay.”

“Is that okay?”

Mike blinked at him, puzzled. “Of course. Why? Are you…”

“I’m fine!” Surprised by his outburst, Will opened his mouth as if he were going to continue, then closed it. After another beat, he said, in a measured tone, “I wanted to check.”

Mike hadn’t ever felt awkward around Will before. Now, it felt like they were tiptoeing around each other; as if broken glass were scattered over the floor and a thin red line connected them. If one of them lost balance, they both would.

But this was Will. No one else. _Will_.

With every ounce of firmness he could muster, Mike said: “There’s no need. You were in trouble, so I helped. It’s as simple as that. I’m glad I did. I wanted to.”

They watched each other for a heady moment.

Will exhaled surreptitiously, like he didn’t want Mike to know he was holding his breath. “Okay,” he replied shakily. Then: “Thank you, Mike.”

Mike’s smile appeared in increments, blooming up from his chest, which burned with feeling, to his throat, which was no longer stuck with fear.

“Don’t forget,” Mike said, his voice on the brink of teasing and sincerity. “Crazy together.”

Will’s grin sent something hot and tangling through his body.

Softly, Will joked, “I should know that by now. It’s happened enough times.”

“One more time never hurt anyone,” Mike replied honestly. “I’ll remind you whenever you need it. Always.”

And when Will smiled, Mike’s heart felt like it would burst into a million, shining pieces, and he imagined them cast like stardust over a scribbled black abyss.


	24. Chapter 24

Part Three  
 **August 19 – October 2**

* * *

The second the bell rang on Monday afternoon, the Party split for their bikes.

Slightly stunned, Dustin muttered, “Recovery time: undetermined,” and Lucas glumly added, “You can say that again.”

“High school is severely overrated,” Mike remarked, scowling as he unchained his bike.

Their classmates spilled out around them, laughing and on a high after the first day of school. Mid-afternoon sunlight flooded the parking lot of Hawkins High, a warm breeze stirring the spreading oaks that encircled the yard.

Mike heard Lucas say, “Oh, shit,” and then a horribly familiar voice called: “Well, fuck me sideways. I can’t _believe_ you’re still alive!”

Startled, Mike looked up just in time to see Troy Walsh and James Dante stroll past them, sneering, hands jammed in the pockets of their shell jackets. Troy glared at them; Will tensed beside him. “Especially you, Zombie Boy. I had money on you and Frog Face—”

Mike’s fists tightened.

“—Ending up like that Kokomo kid.”

James laughed loudly, teeth flashing. Smirking, Troy turned around as he walked and, shaping one hand into a gun, pointed his finger-barrel at them one by one.

[“‘Bang’,” he quoted, “‘you’re dead’!”](https://www.nlm.nih.gov/exhibition/survivingandthriving/digitalgallery/detail-A025423.html)

Joining James in renewed, cold laughter, Troy turned back around and high-fived his friend. The Party watched as they crossed the parking lot and headed towards the bus stop, still joking loudly, their harsh voices piercing the air.

A tense silence settled over them. Mike realised he was gripping his handlebars hard enough to makes his knuckles white. With effort, he loosened them.

“Get bent,” Lucas muttered fiercely. He nudged Mike and shook his head, frowning. “Ignore him.”

Irritated, Mike looked away. Will was fidgeting with the straps of his backpack, one hand on his handlebars to keep his bike steady. His gaze was determinedly plastered to the ground.

Pressing his lips together, Mike frowned and grimly started wheeling into the throng, his bike ticking gently. The others wordlessly followed suit.

When they reached the edge of the parking lot, the Party stopped and looked at each other.

Dustin looked conflicted. “Well, nice to know some people haven’t changed over summer.”

“God!” Lucas burst. “He’s such a frigging douchebag! I swear to God –”

“What happened?” Max came up the grassy incline towards them, skateboard under one arm. She wore an oversized jean jacket that looked oddly familiar. Her long, copper hair tangled around her face. Unlike the other girls in their year, many of whom had turned up as newly minted freshmen wearing makeup and with their hair in frosted styles, Max’s fresh-faced complexion struck an odd note. She glanced between them; her eyelashes were nearly translucent in the sunlight. “Is everything okay?”

Before anyone could speak, Mike said, “It’s just some mouth-breather and his stupid crony. It’s nothing.”

Max shared a look with Lucas. No doubt Lucas would fill her in later.

“Alright,” she replied slowly. Winding through them, she put her skateboard down on the tarmac and rested one sneakered foot on it. “Well, I’m going home. Today fucking sucked. Lucas? You coming with?”

Lucas adjusted his cap and glanced at Mike, who was stony-faced, and Will, whose silence spoke volumes. “Yeah,” he said at last. “Sure.” Ticking his bike into the road, he said, “See you guys tomorrow?”

Mike forced himself to say, “Yeah,” and Dustin said, “Ciao, amigo.”

Shooting them a thin-lipped smile, Lucas got on his bike. Together, he and Max started down the street, Max effortlessly winding her skateboard in Lucas’ wake.

Dustin sighed. Mike ran one hand through his hair, curls springing everywhere.

“You’d think he would have grown up,” Mike said bitterly, referring to Troy. “But _no._ It’s like being a dickwad is integral to his genetic makeup.”

“Assholery is definitely hereditary,” Dustin commented, sounding weary. He sighed again and wheeled his bike into the road. Turning around, he looked between Mike and Will. Something like pity flashed in his eyes. “Hey,” he said abruptly, “do you guys want to come to my house? We could play _Crystal Castles._ Or _Stargate_? I got them before the mall closed down.”

Mike hesitated.

Will shook his head. “I said I’d meet my mom after work.”

“I should go home too,” Mike added.

Dustin glanced between them and smiled, although it was more sympathetic than anything. “Yeah. No problem. Maybe tomorrow.”

“Sure,” Mike said; Will tried to return Dustin’s smile. “That’d be cool. Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.” Swinging one leg over his bike, Dustin pretended to adjust the sleeves of his jumper, which had such a frenetic design it hurt Mike’s eyes. Suddenly, he said: “I know ‘ignore them’ is objectively terrible advice, but it has some merit. They’ll get bored eventually. Their attention span is like a gnat. And that’s offensive to gnats.”

Responses gathered at the tip of Mike’s tongue, but it was easier to nod and say, “Thanks, Dustin.”

Miming a salute, Dustin kicked into the road and began riding home.

By unspoken admission, Mike and Will started wheeling their bikes in tandem. A yellow bus chugged past: Mike glimpsed Troy and James in the back window, making rude gestures. He glared after it.

“They really are under-developed Neanderthals,” Mike muttered.

Echoing Dustin, Will said, “I think that’s offensive to Neanderthals.” They shared a small smile.

Sighing, Mike watched the toes of his sneakers as they walked. “It’s stupid, but I thought things would be different this year. I guess because this summer’s been so big for m—for all of us.”

“I know what you mean,” Will replied softly. “It feels like a lifetime since Starcourt.”

Right, Starcourt. “Totally,” Mike hastened to add.

Will shot him a grin, and Mike was relieved to note there wasn’t a lingering trace of unhappiness. Mike wheeled closer and gently bumped Will’s elbow.

“Can I ride with you to Melvald’s?”

“Sure,” Will replied, surprised. “I thought you had to get home?”

“I do.” Mike held Will’s gaze for a moment. “I just want to spend some time with you.”

Will’s eyes crinkled when he smiled. “I’d like that. Wanna tell me about your day?”

For the first time ever, Mike and Will had different classes. It hadn’t occurred to Mike that they wouldn’t be together: the Party had always had similar, if not identical schedules. This year it was all jumbled up. According to their timetable, the only class they all shared was physical education – a prospect that made Mike want to puke. Fortunately, they did share a lunch hour.

Mike thought through his day, but it was a blur. “Honestly, I can barely remember. Everything’s so confusing. I swear I got lost, like, five times trying to find my locker. And for some reason I forgot that Mr Clarke wouldn’t be teaching us anymore. We didn’t get him a goodbye present. Or at least a card, or something. I don’t know. So, that sucked.”

They entered the outer Hawkins suburbs. The houses here were a far cry from Maple Street: chain-link fences; scrubby, sun-bleached grass; sagging American flags. A few kids cycled past, followed by a car driven by what looked like a senior.

Interrupting himself, Mike said, “Did you notice how much everyone’s changed?”

Will looked over at him and shook his head.

“It was just weird seeing how different everyone looked. Mindy Novak’s chopped off, like, half her hair. And Tracy Tyler must be as tall as Lucas. She’s like a giant.” And Pete Myers was bulky as a football player, with a square jaw and floppy hair; and Phil Fuller, Lucas’ rival in the debate club, was just as severe and Spock-like than ever, except he’d developed a lopsided smile and a wry drawl that meant Mike couldn’t help but shoot furtive glances in his direction when they were all at lunch. The blonde guy he saw at the video store wasn’t anywhere to be found.

Honestly, he’d only noticed Mindy and Tracy in passing – most of his attention was taken by the assault of bare male legs and exposed biceps and how deep everyone’s voices had suddenly become. It was terrifying and thrilling all at once.

“I guess I didn’t realise until today how much we’ve grown up,” Mike admitted.

“I noticed that too,” Will said, and when Mike said, “Yeah?” he nodded.

“Yeah. It reminded me of our conversation about fate and destiny. Do you remember?”

Mike did. “Predestination paradoxes.”

“Yeah, exactly. Like… You know the yearbook? It makes me wonder how much of that is going to change.”

“Do you ever wonder if other people think you’ve changed?”

“I know I’ve changed,” Will admitted. “I mean, last year I missed so much school. You’d have to be blind not to notice. And I’ve not exactly flown under the radar.”

Carefully, Mike asked, “Does that bother you?”

Will thought for a moment, their bikes ticking in the quiet, their sneakers scuffing on the tarmac. “Sometimes. No. I don’t think so.” He met Mike’s gaze and shrugged once, indifferently. “Maybe it did at the start of summer. But that was so long ago. Like you said, so much has happened… I know it sounds stupid,” he added, “but I almost feel like a different person.”

Despite himself, Mike’s pulse skipped. “Really? How come?”

“He’s gone,” Will replied honestly, looking over at him. “At least, I think so. I haven’t felt him since Starcourt. That _has_ to mean something.”

There was a contemplative pause. Will focused on the road ahead, his soft hair stirring in the breeze. His Roman nose was stark in profile. Mike shyly drank him in.

“And, you know,” Will continued, “I think I feel different because we’ve spent so much time together.”

Mike’s heart tightened unexpectedly. Startled, he stared at the side of Will’s face. “What – what do you mean?”

“Well…” Will glanced at Mike. A small smile gathered in the corners of his mouth. “Playing D&D helped a lot. Hanging out with Dustin and Lucas… even El and Max. It’s been so… nice. Normal. I don’t know.”

“I feel the same,” Mike said, and when Will glanced back at him, their eyes met, and Mike smiled warmly.

Colour rose in Will’s cheeks. “Plus,” he added, “our campaign has to be in the top five, if not our top three.”

“Not number one?” Mike teased, and Will laughed.

“Okay, maybe number one. But you can’t tell Dustin. He’ll have a breakdown.”

“In fairness,” Mike said, “his frost and cloud giant campaign was amazing. It should be one of the official D&D campaigns.”

Will’s eyes brightened. “That was the campaign I rescued you from being crushed by a troll’s club!”

“A debt I can’t repay,” Mike remarked, and Will breezily said, “Oh, I’m sure we can think of something.”

Warmth swelled between them, spilling from Will’s teasing look to Mike’s shy smile, and his heart began to pound anew.

After a heady beat, Mike managed: “We do make a pretty good team.”

“Yeah,” Will replied, smiling softly, “we really do.”

They continued to wheel their bikes together. Mike watched their surroundings shift from suburban houses to the larger, slightly industrial buildings of downtown Hawkins. He glanced occasionally at Will, who had started telling him about the final issue of a comic called _Camelot 3000,_ which Mike hadn’t heard of before.

“I thought it was realistic that Merlin left in the end,” Will was saying. “His work was over. It was sort of a Gandalf moment. But his final words were ‘when the cycle begins anew’…”

“Do you think they’ll be another series?”

Will hummed. “I don’t know. Maybe. I kind of hope not. I like how ambiguous it is. And in the end, when the aliens –” Cutting himself off, he glanced at Mike, and said, “Wait, I’ve spoiled it for you now!”

Laughing, Mike said, “No, it’s okay. I like hearing you tell me about it. Go on.”

Will grinned. “If you insist. Well, the alien species finds Excalibur in the stone, you know, after Arthur returns it to stop Morgan and save the world. And they pull it out! So, if they wanted to do another series they totally could. But I hope they don’t.”

“That sounds cool. It sucks that someone’s done medieval X-Men, though.”

“I know. The second I started reading the series, I thought of all our ideas. Do you want to borrow them?” Will added. “I have them all at home. Someone donated a whole box to the thrift store, so I got the whole series for a dollar.”

Astonished, Mike said, “There’s someone in Hawkins who reads comics?” He frowned at the road ahead. “That’s crazy. I wonder who it is.”

“I guess it’s like D&D,” Will replied. “Comics _are_ popular. We can’t be the only ones in the whole town who like them.”

“I guess not,” Mike said, although the prospect made him feel weird. The Party had distinguished themselves as nerds for as long as he could remember. Just knowing someone else was out there, reading comics by flashlight, maybe even thinking about D&D… Maybe there was some guy, somewhere in Hawkins, who was Mike’s age? Someone he could talk to about this stuff, like Lucas and Max talked? Someone he could – someone who wanted…

Someone he could kiss, like he’d kissed El.

The hairs on his arms stood up. Hoping to distract himself, Mike quickly said, “I wonder who donated them.”

“I don’t know. And all of them, for a dollar.” Will sounded amazed. “Either way, I’m glad I got them.”

They were passing through downtown Hawkins now. The movie theatre was just opening: he glimpsed the handsome guy he’d noticed in July unlocking the front doors. Mike wheeled his bike a little closer to Will.

“What else did you like about them?” he asked, glancing sidelong at Will, who looked thoughtful. Half-joking, Mike added, “Anything we could improve on?”

“I’d tell you if that was the case,” Will replied, shooting him a smile. “I mean… not really. I don’t think so. The whole concept was done so well. And the art was so cool.” In a breezy tone of voice, he added: “It reminded me of that book I lent you. _Watchtower_? Remember?”

Mike’s heart skipped. Affecting nonchalance, he said, “Yeah? How come?”

But Will simply grinned at him again. “No more spoilers.”

They crossed the road and headed towards the park. The Byers’ green car was parked outside Melvald’s. Together, Mike and Will paused and peered through the distant storefront. The late afternoon sunlight refracted off the glass. If Mike squinted hard enough, he could just see Mrs Byers at the register ringing up a customer.

“C’mon, mom,” Will muttered. They watched as Mrs Byers laughed and appeared to bid the customer goodbye. Moments later, the doors opened, and an old lady walked out with a paper bag. “You said four o’clock…”

Mrs Byers glanced out the window, then did a double-take when she noticed Mike and Will across the street. She gave them an exaggerated wave and mimed apologising, motioning to her watch and shrugging. Over-enunciating, she mouthed: _I’ll be five minutes. Tops!_

Beside him, Will sighed. “Okay,” he mouthed. Glancing at Mike, he said, “She’s always late.”

“It’s okay,” Mike replied, watching for a moment longer as Mrs Byers hurriedly opened the till and began counting the day’s take. He looked at Will and smiled. “Want to sit on the grass?”

“Sure.”

They wheeled their bikes into the shady grove. The sun lingered over the tops of the surrounding buildings, casting half of the grass in brilliant pools of orange light. Mike followed Will as they headed towards the middle of the lawn. They lowered their bikes onto their sides and sat down together, Mike immediately stretching out his legs and Will sitting with his folded to one side.

Nearby, someone laughed and called goodbye. Office workers got into their cars and pulled into the road. Across the way there was a businessman who might have been Mike’s father; it was in his languid, unhurried amble, and the way he scrunched up his nose to adjust his glasses. A few kids Mike should have recognised from school wheeled past, talking excitedly.

After a companionable moment, Will said, “Did you ever finish it?” He ducked his head to focus on two blades of grass he was trying to braid together. “ _Watchtower._ ”

Shit. Mike remembered wanting to bring _Watchtower_ up the second he’d finished it. But it’d been weeks since then, and, strangely, he felt like he’d changed since he read that scene with Ryke and Errel as they met in secret. Could that really have been back in July? August, even?

More than that, he hadn’t yet figured out how to talk to Will about the obvious… undertones in the book. Well, they weren’t even undertones. There were the two women, who were in a relationship, and then there was Ryke and his blatant desire for Errel, who was a man.

Will had read at least part of it and seemed fine. Hadn’t he even said he’d liked it because it _was_ different?

Mike wished he could have foreseen this conversation, just so he could figure out what he wanted to say beyond –

“Uh, yeah. I did.”

 _Idiot,_ Wheeler.

“And?” Will prompted, glancing at him. The two blades of grass were proving stubborn to braid. “What did you think? I wouldn’t mind finishing it. I think I have to return it soon. Actually…” He sat up for a moment, frowning into the middle distance. “Crap. I think it’s overdue.”

“Shit,” Mike replied automatically, still groping for something to say.

“Yeah.” Will scratched the side of his nose, thinking. “I can’t believe I left it so late. That librarian’s going to murder me.”

The image of that frosted-haired middle-manager stalking Will made Mike let out a bark of laughter. “Death by a thousand fines, maybe,” he retorted. “You’re safe. I bet she doesn’t even talk normally at home: she just whispers.”

Shooting him a grin, Will resumed braiding the strands of grass. “But really, what did you think of it?”

Despite Will’s calm curiosity, Mike didn’t want to test the boundary of their friendship. Not now, anyway, after their first nightmarish day of high school.

Steeling himself, Mike said: “I liked it a lot. The story was kind of formulaic. It didn’t have the same level of world-building as, like, Robert Jordan, but it was still good. Out of Errel and Ryke, I think Ryke was my favourite. I get why he was so torn between his duty and his friendship with Errel.” 

Intrigued, Will looked up at him. “Really? Huh. I thought you would have liked Errel best.”

“How come?”

“I don’t know.” Will shrugged. “He’s so mysterious. Or he thinks that he is. But it’s kind of obvious what he’s thinking.”

Unbidden, Mike’s pulse began to pound. “What’s he thinking?”

And to his immense surprise, Will went pink and said, “About Ryke, mainly.”

Deliberately ignoring Will’s undertone, Mike smiled briefly. “Yeah, of course he’s thinking about Ryke. He’s the only one who can save Errel and help him reclaim his fallen kingdom.”

“Yeah,” Will replied, drawing out the word with a darting glance at Mike. “But it’s a bit… more than that. Didn’t you… I mean, what did you think about – Like, there are those two–”

An image of the two magical women flitted to the front of Mike’s mind. “Oh! Yeah. Um. I did notice that the book didn’t exactly… Obviously it’s in their culture to, like, not _care_ about, um, girls who like other – I mean–”

“Homosexuals,” Will finished quietly, and Mike’s face burned.

“Yep,” he muttered shortly, eyes dropping to the toes of his Converse, “that.”

It would be weird if he went all quiet now. If Mike had learned anything this summer, it was the cagier he acted, the more suspicious people became. With Herculean effort, Mike said, “I was fine with it. The book, I mean. Like, about the two, uh, ladies. And, yeah, okay, I guess there was a bit of, um, tension? between Ryke and Errel. But I don’t think it was supposed to mean anything. Like, I don’t think it was supposed to be, like…”

His eyes snagged on Will’s.

“I don’t think it was like that,” Mike finished lamely.

Will nodded and looked back at the two blades of grass. He’d managed to braid them together by deftly piercing each strand until they were entwined. Mike watched as Will began twisting the strand around his index finger, the grass a brilliant green against Will’s sun-warmed, slightly tanned skin.

“Oh.” There was an undertone in Will’s voice that Mike couldn’t decipher. “I see.”

The impulse to fill the unsettling pause made Mike say: “I know Ryke and Errel were paralleled against the two – against the women. But I’m sure it wasn’t the author’s intention to make that implication. That would be – I must have read it wrong.”

Will didn’t look up. “So, you do think that Ryke and Errel… had feelings for each other?”

“Yeah,” Mike replied, heart thumping, “but it wasn’t _serious_. Ryke was devoted to Errel. That was his job. And Errel had bigger things on his mind. And I think he even liked that lady – I can’t remember her name – the one who travels with them? So, he couldn’t… be like that with Ryke, anyway. And he was a prince. He would have needed to get married, and have kids…”

The longer Mike talked, the further he felt from himself. He could hear his protestations tumble over one another, clumsily piling evidence against the notion that he’d not only noticed how deeply Ryke felt for Errel, but that it was reciprocated; and in an alternate universe, Mike didn’t have trouble imagining Ryke and Errel riding off into the sunset to rule a new kingdom together. Will didn’t have to know any of that, because if he thought that Mike had noticed those things, then he might wonder _why_ Mike had thought about it in the first place, and whether Mike himself had any inclination to think about riding off into the sunset, not with a girl, but a boy.

Will’s silence felt as condemnatory as if they’d shouted at each other. Quietly, Mike said, “I did like it, though.”

“Yeah.” Will unwound the grass around his finger and flicked it suddenly out of sight. He sat up and looped his arms around his knees. “I get it.”

“It was different,” Mike tried. “I thought it was –”

Will flashed him a smile. “It’s okay, Mike. I understand.” As if he’d heard something, Will turned his head, and said, “Mom’s coming.”

Mike couldn’t look away from Will’s profile. “Will,” he said, feeling urgent, “I didn’t have a problem with the – content of the book. I just don’t think that Ryke and Errel felt that seriously about each other. They were friends, that’s all.”

Even though Mrs Byers was still halfway across the lawn, Will ignored Mike and called, “Hi, mom.”

Mrs Byers, panting slightly, closed the distance between them and stopped just by Will, her hands in the pockets of that same, sagging tan jacket she always wore. “Hey, boys.” Mrs Byers caught Will’s eye and gestured. “Honey, we should go. I’m already so late. El’s home alone.”

As Will got up and brushed the grass from his trousers, Mrs Byers looked at Mike and said, “Can I give you a lift? Is your mom coming?”

Standing up slowly, Mike shook his head and, glancing at Will, picked up his bike. “No, it’s okay. I’ll just ride.”

“Are you sure?” Mrs Byers touched Will’s shoulder gently as he passed her to gather his bike. She frowned. “There’s room in the car.”

Uncomfortable, Mike thinned his lips and shook his head again.

“Well, alright then.”

Will wheeled his bike beside his mother. He met Mike’s gaze and, just as Mrs Byers made to turn away, said, “Come on. It’ll be dark soon.”

Mike searched Will’s expression. “Are you sure?”

The sunlight had dipped behind the surrounding buildings, swallowing the park in shadow. Streetlights around the square illuminated one by one. The headlights of a passing car passed over the scene.

“Yeah.” Will smiled softly. “C’mon.”

The keys in Mrs Byers’ hand jingled as they started back across the lawn, Mike and Will wheeling their bikes in tandem, following Mrs Byers as she strode along, her fingers itching for a cigarette. Mike shot Will a furtive look.

“I meant what I said,” he said in an undertone. “ _Watchtower_ was a really good book. And you were right. It was perfect for the campaign.”

The smile Will gave him didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Good.”

“And I didn’t care about Ryke and Errel. I mean… maybe you’re right – maybe they do… you know. Like each other. I probably just didn’t pick up on it properly.”

“Mike,” Will said, “really, it’s okay.”

Perhaps it was the quickening dark, but Mike blurted: “I don’t hate the book because of Ryke and Errel.”

They had reached the edge of the park. Mrs Byers was already on the other side of the street, unlocking their beat-up old car. Will and Mike paused to let another car drive past. Mike watched Will. When Will looked away from the car, their eyes caught one another.

“I know that,” Will said.

For the first time since Mike could remember, it sounded like a lie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The fact that Mike still thinks Will is straight is actually killing me.
> 
> If you read anything from _Camelot 3000_ , may I humbly suggest the one Will's referring to, the final issue? [(Read from this page).](https://readcomiconline.to/Comic/Camelot-3000/Issue-12?id=84226#27) It is, indeed, very similar to _Watchtower_. For... reasons. Gay reasons.
> 
> Also, the AIDs campaign Troy is referring to was a New York one, but let's headcanon Troy's parents are divorced and he spends the summer in the city with his father, a marketing executive, who tends to ignore his son, so Troy ends up spending whole afternoons aimlessly riding the subway, stealing bubblegum from corner stores, and roaming like a stray dog. (Did I just make myself feel sorry for a side character? Why, yes I did).


	25. Chapter 25

Come Friday, Mike was exhausted. High school was _hard._ He didn’t have any trouble keeping up with the standard of work expected – it was the volume of it. He had easily four times as much homework as last year, and every evening was spent at his bedroom desk, lamp on, one hand tangled in his curls and the other tapping a pen against a textbook. Now he knew why Nancy had always been studying.

The Party’s study group was going to be essential. They chose Wednesday as the designated study night. At first Dustin suggested the Hawkins library, but Mike vetoed it for reasons he’d prefer not to examine. Instead, they congregated, as usual, in the Wheelers’ basement, although their first meeting was fuelled by Doritos and Coke and mainly consisted of talking about their classmates and complaining about homework.

It seemed like they were all torn between excitement – school was school, but it was also _school_ ; and even Mike, who’d been in trouble over the years the most out of all of them, was nevertheless eager to learn again – and slight disappointment. Max unkindly attributed this to romance: “You’re just sad no girl has lowered her expectations enough over summer.” (Lucas laughed; Dustin sniffed, “I’m a taken man”; Will rolled his eyes; and Mike exclaimed, “Why would any of us want to date someone who had to _lower their expectations_ to get with us?”)

Despite the usual friction they all, at least, had school in common. El was completely left out.

Mrs Byers had apparently tried leaving stacks of books for El to read while she went to work, but El was either being wilfully ignorant or was simply uninterested.

“She never liked learning,” Mike explained through a mouthful of sandwich one lunchtime, as they sat at their designated table, “even when Hopper taught her.”

“Maybe that’s why she doesn’t want to now,” Max remarked spikily, and… well, he couldn’t argue with that.

Although they hadn’t seen El all week, that changed on Saturday. The Party pooled their money – there was no Steve or Robin to get them in for free this time – and bought tickets to the new Michael J. Fox movie, _Teen Wolf._ Mike and Will had seen previews for it when they saw _Fright Night_ back in August.

El had met them at the front of the theatre. She looked a little apprehensive as she surveyed them, skateboard under one arm, her hair pulled back in a scrunchie. She wore a flannel shirt and a pair of baggy jeans. Nearby, some girls from school whispered and shot her furtive glances, but they stopped when Max raised her eyebrows and gave them a _What are you staring at?_ look.

“Hi,” El said quietly. “How is school?”

“Good,” Lucas replied, putting his arm around Max. “How’s the home-schooling?”

El turned her unsettling brown eyes on him. “Good,” she lied. Then she looked at Mike. “Hey, Mike.”

Aiming for casual, Mike said, “Hey, El.” And, because it was about freakin’ time he stopped avoiding her, he added, “Want me to tell you about my classes?”

Shyly, El nodded and smiled at him. Mike grinned back. “Great. C’mon.”

But when he turned to lead El into the theatre, he glimpsed Will’s downcast expression, and he had to swallow past the lump in his throat.

Now that school had started, Mike became more conscious of how he acted around Will. Everyone – the Party and their classmates – knew that he and Will were close. But the prickling feeling at the back of his head was more pronounced than ever, as if people really were staring at him. A passing comment could magnify in his imagination until he suspected people were glancing at him during study hall or whispering about him in the halls. Mike continued to sit by Will at every opportunity, and usually they spoke only to each other when the Party was together at lunch, but the effort it took to remain cool and collected contrasted with a strong, paranoid undercurrent he hadn’t felt since he hid El in the basement two years ago, always on the edge of fear that his parents would go downstairs and see the escaped girl with the shaved head sitting on their couch.

But Mike wouldn’t let his stupid personal problems get in the way of hanging out with Will. It wasn’t Will’s fault Mike was like this – he didn’t know his closest friend was a freak. The only thing Mike could and should do was pretend like everything was fine. You never knew – maybe this would all blow over and Mike could go back to looking at Will without his stomach tangling in knots.

But quietly, he doubted it.


	26. Chapter 26

The following afternoon found Mike up in his bedroom, sprawled over his bed, engrossed in _Magic’s Pawn._

As he had for most of the summer, a Tangerine Dream cassette was playing on the tape-deck. The strange, ethereal music swelled against the pictures tacked up on the walls, his rows of fantasy and science fiction novels, and the windows, which were closed tight against a bank of storm clouds that bloomed solemnly over the neighbours’ rooves. Any minute now it was going to pour – and Mike had a similar sensation as with each passing page, he felt closer and closer to pricking the black scribble that had threatened to swallow him whole.

The character of Vanyel had quickly become one of the most annoying yet sympathetic figures Mike had ever read. Vanyel’s angry outbursts and bitter self-loathing were uncomfortably familiar to him. As was the problem Vanyel was struggling with…

 _There is in you a fear, a shame, placed there by your own doubts and the thoughts of one who knew no better. I can tell you think being a_ shay’a’chern _occurs in nature. How then, ‘unnatural’? Usual, no; and not desirable for the species, else it would die out for lack of offspring… But not unnatural._

Mike held the book open with one hand and, with the other, played with his lower lip and rubbed his mouth, frowning as he slowly re-read the passage.

They said that AIDs was unnatural. It was caused by drugs, which were manmade, and occasionally by blood transfusions from an infected person, which was also a modern scientific concept. Mostly, it was because two men slept together. That an unnatural act produced an unnatural disease was logically coherent.

Was he unnatural for preferring guys?

Vanyel’s mentor didn’t seem to think so. Nor had Will when he talked about the two women and Errel and Ryke in _Watchtower._ Mike had thought frequently about their conversation in the park. Had Will acted weird because he thought Mike was disgusted by the idea? Or hadn’t he realised that the book was so… _gay_?

Somewhere downstairs, a door slammed. His mom called for his dad. Thunder rumbled in the distance.

Why had Will leant _Watchtower_ to Mike? Despite what Mike said, the book hadn’t been that helpful to the campaign. For other things, sure. Will hadn’t asked for it back even when it was overdue. Maybe he didn’t want to bother Mike – or maybe he was freaked out that Mike hadn’t mentioned anything, so he figured that to stay silent would be best? But why had Will brought it up out of the blue? And why did he go all quiet when Mike stuck his big foot in it (again)?

The cassette player clicked. Mike realised he’d been staring blindly at the looping tape. He reluctantly got up, padded over to his desk, and pressed stop.

Still frowning, Mike gazed out of the window. Rain, heavy and cold, began to fall, splattering the street beyond and soaking the pavement in a matter of minutes.

 _There is in you a fear, a shame._ It was true: he _was_ afraid. Because he didn’t know… he didn’t know what guys who liked guys _did_. Images from _Dynasty_ flickered through his mind. What had that character said? That he wanted to be with his boyfriend, forever, like a regular, normal couple? And wasn’t that what Ryke wanted, really, when he saved Errel near the end of the novel, and they’d stared into each other’s eyes, gripping each other’s hands?

At once, it came to him.

He wasn’t just afraid because he was ashamed, or that he’d heard rumours about what happened to guys like him. He was afraid because he didn’t _know._ Mike didn’t know what guys like him did because he’d never learned anything about it.

Fantasy books weren’t going to cut it. If Mike was going to figure out, once and for all, what or who he was supposed to be, he needed to conduct a rigorous experiment – one based in reality, not in worlds like Torner Keep or Valdemar.

Mr Clarke had once told them that good scientific study prompted more questions than answers. Well, Mike definitely had a freaking _ton_ of questions. And the only way to answer them was through research.


	27. Chapter 27

Mike had no time over the following week to deploy his plan. Monday and Tuesday were taken up with homework and family stuff (he and his mom had reached a strange truce in which they hadn’t talked about their argument but treated each other with stiff civility that grated Mike’s nerves and made his mom look constipated; his dad appeared to have forgotten). Wednesday was study group – and much to Mike’s relief, they actually studied this time. Thursday and Friday were more of the same, with Mike so exhausted on Friday that he declined a movie night at Lucas’ and went straight home to bed. When he woke on Saturday morning, he stared at the ceiling for a long time, thinking. When he at last got up to shower, his mind was made up.

Mike hung around the house until late afternoon. It rained all day: a steady, cold drizzle that soaked the lawn and pattered persistently on the roof and against the windows. His mom had taken Holly to a play date; his dad was supposed to be in the office ‘doing paperwork’, but he kept migrating out into the kitchen to make cafetières of coffee. As Mike marched past the kitchen doorway, he glimpsed his dad leaning over the counter reading the newspaper, the kettle bubbling behind him, the radio on in the background. He yawned and, scratching his chin, turned a page.

Rolling his eyes, Mike wrenched open the door.

A cool gust of air swept through him. Mike quickly closed the door, zipped up his rainslicker, and pulled the hood up. Grabbing his bike from its usual spot, he checked the straps of his backpack, then hopped on and wheeled into the rain.

The only way he could get away with this was if he were subtle as all hell. Lucas didn’t know what he was talking about: Mike could be subtle! He’d hidden El in his basement for a week. He’d survived the summer without anyone realising he was any different from the rest of them. Lucas wouldn’t know subtle if it hit him in the face.

As he cycled through the suburbs and towards downtown Hawkins, Mike wondered briefly where Will was. Their conversation a few weeks ago filtered back to him, and he found himself thinking once more about the possibility that the Byers might move away. A sour feeling settled in the pit of his stomach. Tightening his grip on the handlebars, Mike pushed himself a little faster, as if he could leave the image of Will driving away from Hawkins far behind him.

Downtown Hawkins was sparsely populated. Mike splashed through puddles and arrived at the video store parking lot in less than fifteen minutes. The windows of the arcade were fogged up; dimly, Mike heard countless video game soundtracks burbling over one another.

Stashing his bike and locking it, Mike started towards the video store and slowly pulled off his hood as he did so. Rain clung to his cheeks and ran down his slicker in thin rivulets. The glass door had a sign that read OPEN 12-TO-12!

The warm air was a welcome relief from outside. Sniffing, Mike wiped his face and went over to the counter, glancing down the stacks as he did so. He was the only customer.

As he neared the counter there came the sound of a drawer closing, then Robin’s spiky hair came into view. She had a small stack of VHS boxes balanced in one hand. She noticed him at the last moment and promptly smirked.

“Well, well, well. I just can’t seem to get rid of you, can I?”

“Nope,” Mike replied, popping the P. Crossing his arms on the counter, he peered at the boxes she put down. “What’re you doing?”

“Working,” Robin replied wryly. “We can’t all scurry around freely on the weekend.” She motioned with her chin to the windows behind him. “It’s really pouring out there, huh?”

“What? Oh, yeah.” Mike unzipped his rainslicker with one hand. Rain splattered everywhere. “Don’t you ever get days off?”

Robin raised her eyebrow at the droplets that littered the counter. “Occasionally,” she drawled, swiping her hand through the water, and sending it to the carpeted floor. “Mostly, it seems that minimum wage and punishing hours is my lot in life.”

“Wow. That’s super depressing.”

“That’s adulthood,” Robin told him. “And soon it’ll be your joy too.”

Drily, Mike said, “Can’t wait.” Then: “I brought those videos back, by the way.” He took off his backpack, unzipped it, and began stacking them in front of Robin, who watched him joylessly.

“Hooray,” she deadpanned. “Did you dweebs have a fun time, at least?”

Shooting her a grin, Mike said, “Yeah, actually. It was awesome. I had no idea old movies were so violent.”

Finished, he began zipping his bag back up. In his peripheral vision, he noticed Robin pick up one of his returned videos and read the back of it, frowning.

“You watched this?” she asked him, and Mike said, “Which one?”

Robin turned the box around: it was _Night Warning._ Lucas’ voice echoed: _Man, that movie was gay._

Heat rose in Mike’s face. “Oh,” he replied coolly. “Yeah.”

Bemusement flickered in Robin’s unwavering gaze. “You watched this movie,” she enunciated, “with your little friends?”

“Most of us fell asleep,” Mike protested. Robin looked unconvinced. He added: “I can’t remember any of it.”

After Lucas’ comments he’d watched it again, alone, and yeah, okay, it was pretty gay. More than that. It was very…

“I didn’t like it,” Mike lied. “Not enough…” Blood? Sex? “Girls.”

“Girls,” Robin repeated, eyebrows disappearing into her fringe.

Mike nodded, struggling to keep his composure. “Yeah,” he said breezily. “I mean – there were some. You know. A few. But not enough. I really wanted more…” _Come on, you can do it._ “Uh, girls.”

An odd silence settled between them.

Robin lowered the box and, tilting her head to one side, narrowed her eyes and said, “Huh.”

What did that mean? Nervously, Mike’s eyes darted away, and he pretended to study the store. When he glanced back, Robin was still watching him. He frowned. “What?”

“Nothing.” Robin started tidying the stack of videos. “So…” Glancing at him, she gestured to the stacks. “Are you going to take out any more – any movies?”

It was time to deploy his plan.

“Maybe. I’ll see.” Mike took a few backwards steps from the counter and pointedly looked around the store again. “Got anything new?”

Robin was opening boxes and taking the cassettes out. There was a machine behind her that, when she put the cassettes in, began automatically rewinding them. “Uh, yeah. Check the new release section.” As Mike began to wander away, she added in a slightly louder tone of voice: “We’re getting _Fright Night_ in.”

Excitement zipped through him. Turning on the spot, Mike said, “Really?”

Robin smiled. “Yeah. The one you saw with…”

“Will,” he supplied automatically.

“Right, I remember. Will Byers,” she mused. “He’s the one who can sense evil beasties, right?”

Mike immediately looked at the door, but they were alone. Frowning, he looked back at Robin. “You shouldn’t even know that.”

“Yet, I do.” Noticing Mike’s expression, Robin’s smile faded. “Look, Wheeler,” she sighed, “I’m not going to tell anyone. Steve already swore me to secrecy. So…” She mimed locking her lips. “Consider it sealed.”

“I’m serious,” Mike insisted, still frowning. “It’s top secret. If anyone knew you knew –”

“The government would get me?” Robin joked. “I’m sure I’m already on some list somewhere. Don’t worry. I get it.”

“Really, Robin, I’m not kidding –”

“Mike,” she interrupted, raising her eyebrows again. “I got it.”

He stared at her for a long moment. Robin’s eyes never moved from his. Eventually, he reluctantly said, “Okay.”

She looked weirdly relieved. “Good. Now go. I’ve got work to do, a pittance to make, et cetera.”

Continuing to peer at her, Mike said, “Fine,” then turned to disappear into the stacks.

In case Robin was watching him, he perused the new releases. There was a copy of that awful movie _Weird Science_ that Steve bought them tickets for. It had to be one of the worst things Mike had ever seen, but it had a lot of boobs in it. Glancing towards the counter, Mike picked it up and stuck it under one arm.

Over the course of twenty minutes, Mike wandered the aisles. In that time two customers came in: an older man with a moustache that bustled towards the back corner (Mike noticed Robin grimacing); and a mom holding the hand of a sticky-looking kid with huge ears. As the mom asked Robin about age-appropriate movies, Mike found the section he was looking for. By a stroke of bad luck, it was the same aisle as the moustached man.

They glanced at each other at the same time and promptly pretended they hadn’t. Mike glimpsed the covers of the videos he was looking for and his heart began to pound. Abruptly, he turned around and studied the adjacent section – FOREIGN / ARTHOUSE – and blindly picked up some black and white movie. The man took forever. Eventually, with two boxes clasped in one sweaty hand, he left the aisle and approached the counter. The mom and her kid had moved over into the family friendly section. Mike watched surreptitiously as Robin took the boxes and looked for the cassettes, her polite expression masking the distaste that curled her lip.

Alone at last, Mike quickly returned to the hunt. The glimpse of another box made his breath catch, but he forced himself to inhale deeply, frowning as he did so. Slowly, he picked one up.

It depicted two men in water, holding onto each other as if they were grappling. Their faces were half-hidden. The title read _A Very Natural Thing._

Heat once more rose in Mike’s face. Guiltily, he glanced around, then turned the box over. _Dreaming of domestic bliss, a young man leaves the priesthood and moves to New York City where he begins exploring his homosexuality…_

Heart pounding, Mike put the box back. He made himself walk a few steps and picked up another video called _That Certain Summer._ The front cover was of a black and white man in profile. _A divorced contractor (Hal Holbrook) has been living with his homosexual lover (Martin Sheen)…_

Oh, God.

The box clattered as he returned it to the shelf. Was this a massive mistake? Maybe he should just go home. He’d take out _Weird Science_ and go. Mike’s plan to find – gay – movies and swap the cassettes around suddenly seemed totally ridiculous. For one, the actual VHS tapes were behind the counter; and two, freakin’ Robin was working! Steve’s _girlfriend_ Robin. Steve, who was friends with Dustin, who was one of Mike’s best friends.

 _You’re not subtle,_ Lucas’ voice said, and Mike broke out in a cold sweat.

Turning sharply on his heel, Mike made to leave the aisle. As he looked up, he pulled up short.

Robin was there.

She carried a stack of boxes under one arm. As their eyes met, Mike’s stomach plummeted. He was seized with an insane urge to run. Then, all at once, an icy wave of fear swept through his limbs and adrenaline, sharp and bitter, made his heart pound painfully against his ribcage. In slow motion, he watched as Robin took in which aisle they were in.

Then, to his immense surprise, she smiled at him.

It wasn’t a pity smile, or even a stiff I’m-being-polite-because-what-the-fuck smile. If Mike had to guess – and this was digging deep, considering how difficult he found reading girls – Robin’s expression was bittersweet.

“I wondered if I’d find you here,” Robin remarked. Mike’s throat tightened. She glanced again at the rows of topless male torsos and soulful-looking women on motorcycles. Wryly, she added: “Seems like you really can get it all at Hawkins Family Video.”

“I need to go,” Mike blurted, and made to barge past her. At the last moment, Robin stepped into his way and held up one free hand.

“You don’t have to,” she said, ducking her head to meet his gaze. When their eyes met again, she raised her eyebrows. “Are you… looking for something in particular?”

Tightly, Mike said, “No. I have to go. Excuse me.”

Robin gestured to the video he had under his arm. “What’s that?” When Mike wordlessly held out _Weird Science,_ she burst out laughing.

Frowning, Mike stared at her. Robin covered her mouth with one hand and continued to laugh, her blue eyes glittering.

“Sorry,” she gasped. “Oh... Okay. I’m okay.” Lowering her hand, she shifted her weight to one side and gave him a look that read _Really?_ “Interesting choice there, Wheeler. There are certainly a lot of girls in that.”

Mortified, Mike whipped the video behind his back. Robin smirked.

“And a lot of boobs,” she added, making Mike’s face glow like a tomato. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but I’m not sure that’s… your style.”

Mike at last found his voice, which sounded strangled. “No. You’re wrong. This is – exactly what I was looking for.” He swallowed. Faltering, he added: “Girls and boobs.”

Robin grimaced. “Gross,” she pronounced. And before Mike could react, she grabbed the video from behind his back and held it out of reach. “You’re not taking this out,” she said, “because you don’t want to. _Am_ I wrong? Or are you just freaking out right now?”

Could she be serious?

His heart began to slow its tremendous assault. Searching her expression, he eventually echoed: “Freaking out.”

Robin nodded. “Is it because I found you back here?”

Mike’s face burned again. “No. Maybe? I – don’t know. Yeah?”

“Maybe yes?” she tried, but Mike was too embarrassed to respond.

Nodding again, as if in affirmation, Robin put _Weird Science_ beneath her arm. She seemed to study him for a moment. Then, she said, “I’m guessing you don’t want to watch these movies with any of your little friends.”

And before he knew what he was doing, Mike shook his head. Blood rushed in his ears.

Robin blinked. “Not… any of your friends?”

Puzzled, he frowned at her. “No. They’re not – I don’t know anyone who’s –” Unhappiness swelled in his chest, and he had to blink hard against the conflicting impulses that clustered suddenly on the tip of his tongue. At last, he said quietly, “No.”

“Alright,” Robin said, sounding light and calm. “Well… As your designated Hawkins Video employee, allow me to assist.”

“You don’t have to,” Mike blurted in renewed panic. “I can… I’m okay.”

She gave him a thin-lipped smile. “Trust me, Wheeler. You need guidance.” Sweeping past him, she breezily said over her shoulder, “I am a certified cinephile. That means I have impeccable taste in the cinematic arts and can help you in finding only the –” She pointedly met his gaze – “most informative films. Ah!”

Robin stopped a few feet away, picked up a box, and turned around to hold it up so Mike could see. “This one,” she declared.

Mike looked at the title – _The Gay Deceivers –_ and immediately averted his eyes.

When it was apparent Robin was waiting for him to say something, he said, “Not… not that.”

Making a face, Robin looked at the front of the video and remarked, “It may be a little overt. But it is very, very funny.” She returned it to the shelf. In a gentler tone, she said, “What sort of thing were you looking for?”

Feeling as if he were about to wake up at any moment, Mike dumbly followed Robin as she continued down the aisle, pausing occasionally to contemplate a video. Shyly, he heard himself say: “I don’t know.”

Then, a box caught his eye and he picked it up. As Robin turned expectantly, he held it out to her.

“What about this?”

Robin grimaced and glanced between him and the box. “Maybe not that,” she said, and Mike frowned and looked down at _Cruising._

“Why not?” he asked, and Robin said, “Just trust me, okay? I don’t want you traumatised before you’ve even got to grips with anything yet.”

Mike returned the box. A spirit of mutual interest sparked between them. Selecting another video, he held it up. “This one?”

Robin flushed and plucked _Self Defence_ from him. “No,” she said firmly. “Seriously, no trauma.”

“What’s so bad about it?” Mike asked with interest.

“Let’s just say there’s a subgenre of this… type of film… that appeals to the more masochistic side of our— of _the_ community.”

He picked up _Sleepaway Camp,_ the cover of which depicted a bloody knife piercing a white sneaker. Just as he turned it over to read the blurb, Robin grabbed it from him and replaced it with a box that showed one woman and two men staring at the viewer. It was called _Making Love._

“Here,” Robin said. “This is much more… educational. Plus,” she added when Mike wrinkled his nose and glanced at her, “it’s very sweet. I think you’ll like it.”

“Who says I want ‘sweet’?” Mike objected, and Robin’s eyebrows rose.

“The way you’re feeling, right now? Trust me. You want sweet. None of this doom-and-gloom shit. Okay?”

Mike looked back at the front of the video and reluctantly said, “If you say so.”

“I do.” The front door opened and, as one, they looked over to see a young family come in from the rain. Robin said, “I should return to my station. Don’t forget about _Return of the Jedi._ ” And, incredibly, she shot him a warm smile before walking away, as if nothing out of the ordinary had just occurred.

Mike stood there for several minutes, frowning in the general direction of the counter. It was only when one of the kids began nosing down the stacks towards him that he hurried away into the sci-fi section, pressing the front of _Making Love_ to his chest.

He loitered until the noisy family left. As he made his way shyly to the counter, Robin looked up and smiled again at him.

“Just this?” she asked, picking up the box and frowning. “No _Star Wars_?”

“I don’t want to see it without my friends,” he muttered.

Robin made a small sound of assent and began rifling through the drawers beneath the counter. Mike watched her in his peripheral vision.

Before he could think too much about it, he blurted: “How do you know so much about this stuff?”

Robin hesitated. Then she straightened up and put the cassette in the box, her expression a mask of coolness. “Like I said,” she replied, “I’m a cinephile. That means I’m addicted to –”

“I know what a cinephile is.”

She smirked. “Should have known you would. I enjoy watching films. I watch whatever I can get my hands on. Working here is like my personal crack den.” As she logged into the computer and scanned the box, Mike handed her his mom’s membership card. “Besides,” Robin continued, glancing at him and shrugging casually, “it’s no fun realising you’re different.”

Frowning, Mike said, “I’m not. Different, I mean. I’m just…” Robin’s eyebrows had disappeared into her fringe again. “Curious.”

“Sure,” Robin drawled, and slid the box across the counter with the card on top. “That’s what I was going to say.”

Still frowning, Mike wordlessly grabbed the video and put it in his backpack. He slowly zipped up his rainslicker. Then, because he’d kick himself otherwise, he said, “Why did you hate that guy that came in before?” When she didn’t say anything, he added, “The one with the moustache.”

Recognition dawned. “Oh, Barry? He’s your garden variety perve.” Robin’s smirk returned when she noticed Mike’s face. “Don’t panic, Wheeler Junior. He wasn’t after the same movies as you, if that’s what you’re thinking.” (How did she know?) “Hawkins Video might be family friendly, but everything has a dark side.” She gestured with her chin towards the back of the store. “That’s what our manager tastefully describes as the ‘adult’ section. Strictly eighteen plus. So don’t even try.”

“I wasn’t going to!” Mike said, aghast, and Robin laughed.

“I’m teasing! Jeez, you gotta lighten up. Watch that movie. That’ll get you in a good mood, I promise.” She shook her head and smiled. “Now get out of here. Dingus is en route and I can’t have him think I spend all my shifts hanging out with children like he did. I’d never hear the end of it.”

“Have it your way.” Mike swung his backpack on and started towards the door. He paused with his hand on the handle. Then he looked back over his shoulder to Robin, who was watching him with those slightly downturned eyes. Mike fought with himself. At last, he said, “Thanks.”

Robin tilted her head to one side. When she smiled, he could see why Steve liked her so much.

“Don’t mention it, kiddo.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trying to figure out your identity without the internet was hard, okay.


	28. Chapter 28

The start of September rang in with the Labour Day long weekend. Mike’s parents had planned to go to a cabin near the Morgan-Monroe State Forest, which they did every year, but on the Thursday before, when Mike was up in his room tearing his hair out over algebra, his parents’ voices rose to a pitch.

Mike stared blankly at his textbook, both ears pricked. Downstairs, his dad made an angry comment, and his mom yelled, “Well, that’s just great!”

Someone knocked on his door. Feeling like a robot, Mike got up and opened the door.

It was Nancy. She was in an oversized sports sweater and a pair of track shorts. Her socks were bunched around her ankles, and her hair was pulled into a lumpy ponytail. Nancy gave him a humourless, thin-lipped smile, eyes crinkling at the corners. Holly was propped on one of her hips, holding a stuffed animal and mumbling to herself.

“Hey,” Nancy said, sounding apologetic. “Sorry. I know you’re studying… I just – Do you mind if we come in?”

Their parents’ voices rose once more. Mike winced as someone shouted (“And just what do you propose, _Ted_?”) and muttered, “Yeah, c’mon,” and stepped back to let Nancy past.

Mike closed the door tight as Nancy padded over to the bed and sank onto it, pulling Holly into her lap. They watched their little sister as she hugged her toy and whispered, “Mommy’s loud.”

“I know,” Nancy replied softly, glancing up at Mike. “It’s okay. It’ll be over soon.”

Their dad’s voice cut across Nancy’s voice – “Well, maybe if you listened to me, Karen, instead of…” – and she glanced at Mike again, this time nervously.

“What are they arguing about?” Mike hissed to her, going over to his desk chair, and sitting down. Nancy shrugged.

“The usual,” she replied bitterly. “Money, responsibilities. Dad can’t come to the cabin this year.”

Shocked, Mike’s mouth dropped open. “What? How come? Why? We always go.”

Sighing, Nancy said, “I know. It’s something to do with work – I don’t know what. Anyway, as you can hear, mom’s not happy.”

As if on cue, their mom yelled, “And what am I supposed to say to the kids?”

“No need,” Nancy muttered in response, rolling her eyes as she ducked her head. She reached around to play with the arm of Holly’s stuffed rabbit. “Mom _is_ loud,” she murmured to Holly, “isn’t she?”

“We always go to the cabin,” Mike muttered, half to himself. He sank back slowly in his chair, socked feet akimbo on the carpet. He frowned at his textbook – the algebra was all squiggles – then looked over at Nancy, who was trying to distract Holly.

He watched them for a few minutes. When the shouting downstairs subsided then resumed, he said, “How’s senior year?”

Nancy huffed a laugh, eyebrows raised. “Uh. Well. Not that I’m in any frame of mind right now, but… it’s fine. You know. Hard.” She shrugged. “Not that I expected it to be easy.”

“Mom and dad aren’t going to let you go to New York,” Mike told her abruptly, the argument he’d had with his parents flashing through his mind.

To his surprise, Nancy shot him a flat look. “You think I don’t know that? Mom’s been lobbying for Northwestern since I started high school. Apparently, they don’t want me to ‘grow up too fast’. Which is –” Nancy mouthed the word _bullshit_ over Holly’s soft blonde head. “And they know it too. They just don’t want me to go anywhere Jonathan is.”

“What?” This was news to him. “Seriously? That’s bogus.”

“Dad doesn’t like the Byers,” Nancy said, shrugging again as if to dispel a long-borne anger. Correcting herself, she added, “Well, he liked Lonnie. Mr Byers. Do you remember him? Jonathan and Will’s dad?”

A memory of a rangy man with salt-and-pepper hair came to mind. Will’s dad had left Hawkins years ago – Mike couldn’t remember exactly when – and he didn’t think the Byers were worse off for it. Will didn’t like to talk about his dad – if he ever really had. Passing comments hardly shed light on what Mike suspected was still a painful and deep bruise. Mike thought he could empathise – Mr Wheeler wasn’t model father of the year either – but there was something uncomfortable about Will’s dad, something unfathomable and sly, like a lurking displacer beast waiting to dart in and bite.

“A little,” Mike said. At once, he realised that Jonathan might have told Nancy more about the infamous Lonnie. “Why?” he added, hoping she wouldn’t change the topic. “Do you? Know much about him, I mean.”

A shadow crossed Nancy’s expression. “I wish I didn’t. I remember dad had the Byers over one summer for a barbeque. You and Will were little kids. Dad and Lonnie drank beer and grilled burgers while mom and Mrs Byers sat and talked. When the food was ready, Joyce – Mrs Byers – went to take the plate of burgers to the table. I guess she tripped because I remember her falling and the food going everywhere. Mom got up to help her…” Nancy’s lips thinned. “The way Lonnie looked at her… I’ve never seen anyone look like that at a woman before. He was angry,” she added sharply. “Like, really angry. All over a plate of burgers.”

“Woah.” If that were what Lonnie was like surrounded by people, what would he have been like to live with? Coldness prickled down Mike’s back. “I don’t remember that at all.”

Nancy flashed him a small smile. “You wouldn’t. I think you were like six, or something. I only remember because I was so mad mom wouldn’t let me wear my new swimsuit. It had these bows on it. I thought I was coolest kid on the block.”

Mike returned her smile, but thoughts of Will clamoured in his mind. Was that why Will never talked about his dad? Because he was always angry, and might have even hated Mrs Byers?

Deciding that pressing his luck was better than listening to their own parents bicker downstairs, Mike asked, “What else do you know about him?”

Nancy opened her mouth but paused. Conflicted, she focused on Holly for a moment, who was listlessly flipping her toy rabbit’s ears up and down.

“I know a few things,” she admitted. “How… much has Will told you?”

“A bit,” Mike lied. “He doesn’t like to talk about it.” That much, at least, was true.

“Well…” Nancy looked at him, frowning slightly. “I’m – I don’t know if should say. It’s not exactly my place. Jonathan told me in confidence.”

“Oh, c’mon, Nance! I’m not going to tell anyone. I just want to know.”

But Nancy was already shaking her head again, and Mike recognised the way her lips pressed together. “Sorry,” she said, as Mike slumped back in his chair. “I can’t. Ask Will. Maybe he’ll tell you. But if he doesn’t… don’t get mad at him. Okay?”

“I would never get mad at Will,” Mike said, offended.

She rolled her eyes. “I’m just saying.”

“Can we watch TV?” Holly asked, still playing with her toy.

Nancy’s expression once more resumed its tired cast. “Not yet, sweetie.”

Mike motioned with his chin to their sister. “Shouldn’t she be in bed?”

“She was,” Nancy replied wearily. “Mom and dad woke her up. That’s why I’m here.”

At once, Mike realised the shouting downstairs had stopped. It was replaced with a far louder sound: utter silence.

“Maybe it’s over,” he ventured, and Nancy frowned and looked at his door, and said, “Maybe.”

Glancing back at him, she added, “How’d you know about New York?”

“Oh…” Mike stretched out an arm over his desk and started rolling his pen around on the abandoned textbook. “I guess I heard mom mention it.”

“Huh.” Just as Mike thought she’d press him on the topic, Nancy abruptly said, “I don’t know if I even want to go to college anymore.”

Mike dropped the pen and stared at her. “What?! But you’ve wanted to be a journalist since forever!”

“I still do. And I still want to go to college. Maybe. I just…” With one arm still wound around Holly’s middle to keep her secure, with her free hand Nancy rubbed the side of her face, disrupting strands of flyaway hair from her sagging ponytail. “These past few years have been a shitshow –” None of them flinched at the curse – “And with mom and dad fighting so much, I… I don’t know. I’d feel weird leaving, knowing you and Holly –”

Nancy occasionally had a self-sacrificing streak, but Mike would have expected this from Jonathan, not her. “You cannot be serious,” he deadpanned, and Nancy turned to look at him, startled.

“Uh, I’m dead serious,” she retorted. “What do you mean? What do you think all this arguing is about? Why do you think our family is tearing apart at the seams?”

Mike hadn't realised until that moment that the spectre of his summer hadn’t only been his dawning feelings about other boys, but the splintering relationship of his parents.

At once, all Mike could focus on was the panic that began to bubble in the pit of his stomach.

“I mean, _shit,_ Mike! Mom and dad were never the lovebirds of the century. All I’m saying is that we need to seriously consider the possibility that they might –” Nancy steeled herself. “Get a divorce.”

In the ensuing strained silence, Holly said, “What’s that?”

Nancy ignored her and continued to stare at Mike, who felt embarrassment and fear rise hotly in his face.

“You don’t mean that.”

“I do,” Nancy said firmly. “And, Mike, I’m not saying it to be mean, I’m... I’m being realistic. I’m… God, I’m sorry it came out like this. I wanted to talk to you when the time was right. But you’re a freshman now, and you’ve dealt with enough fu—messed up stuff to last a lifetime.” Her hazel eyes bored into his, pleading with him to understand. “That’s why I can’t think about college or moving or any of that –” She sounded slightly delirious, although Mike could tell she was keeping herself in check. “ _Normal_ stuff. Okay? It’s because I have to think about mom, and dad, and you, and Holly, and what would happen to the house, and…”

She buried her face in one hand.

A lump lodged in his throat. Mike swallowed past it with difficulty. In some upside-down twist of fate, his restless eyes fell on a framed photograph across the room on his bookcase. In it, he and his dad were in fold-up chairs on the wooden pier at the cabin, both holding fishing lines and turning in their seats to squint at the camera. It must have been four years old. Mike’s dad was smiling.

“God… I’m sorry. I don’t mean to lay this on you. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“No,” Mike interrupted, looking back at her. “No, you should have. Maybe we can… maybe we can fix it.” A spirit of industry gripped him. Even as Nancy’s expression shifted into one of pity, Mike said firmly, “Yeah. We’ll talk, all together, as a family, and we’ll try and fix it.”

“Mike,” Nancy said gently, “it’s not that simple. Mom and dad are adults, they know –”

“Obviously they don’t!” Mike burst. “Otherwise you wouldn’t say something as horrible and fucked up as _divorce_!”

His words rang in the air. Holly’s eyes filled with tears. One fat drop slid down her cheek.

Shocked, Nancy hissed, “I’m being a realist!”

“You’re giving up,” Mike corrected harshly. “That’s not the same. You don’t have to give up college and you _don’t_ have to look after me. I can take care of myself. And mom and dad are _not_ divorcing.”

Eyes narrowing, Nancy said, “Fine,” and swung off the bed, hoisting Holly onto her hip as she did so. Mike followed suit so they glared at each other from across the room: Nancy, looking younger without all that makeup; Holly, silently crying; and Mike, furious with how afraid he suddenly was.

“But just so you know,” Nancy continued tightly, “being an adult means facing reality, no matter how much it sucks. And it is a _sucky_ reality, but our parents might not be together for much longer, and you have to accept that.”

“Or what?!” Mike’s voice was louder than he thought. “I’ll have to deal with you mothering me instead? Guess that’s a risk I’ll have to take.”

Nancy’s face went blotchy. She turned on her heel, wrenched open his door, and passed through it, slamming it in her wake. At once, Holly started to cry in earnest. Downstairs, his mom called, “ _What_ is going on up there?”

Mike threw himself onto his bed and, for what felt like the fiftieth time that summer, burst into tears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everything hurts.


	29. Chapter 29

For the first time in living memory, the Wheelers did not go to the cabin. It wasn’t even discussed. On the Saturday morning, when they’d usually be piling into the car to drive up to the lake, Mike went downstairs to find his parents at the table like normal. His mom was buttering toast and handing slices to Holly. His dad was reading the paper. Nancy caught his eye over the lip of her coffee cup and averted her gaze.

Mike was getting tired of secrets. “What are we doing for Labour Day?” he asked, throwing himself in a chair and boldly staring around the table.

Mrs Wheeler put down her knife, put the lid on the butter dish, and said, “We’re staying home, honey.”

And that was that. So much for fucking ‘conflict resolution’.

After an awkward breakfast, Mike disappeared into the basement to radio the Party. Expecting Mike to be at the cabin, Will responded to his hails with a cheerful, “Hey! I didn’t think I’d hear from you until Monday. Over.”

“Change of plans,” Mike muttered, listening to his mom noisily stack the dishwasher as if in reproach to his father. “What are you doing? Over.”

“Nothing, really,” Will replied. “Mom’s not working for once, and Jonathan only has an evening shift.” Now that school was back, Jonathan had earned a new part-time job at Benny’s Burgers, a dive just outside of Hawkins. The mysterious suicide of its owner three years ago hadn’t dried up business; if anything, the place that previously existed off the habitual patronage of truckers now rivalled the burger joint downtown. It was a sport among Hawkins teenagers to guess which table the owner had shot himself at. “I was just drawing. Over.”

“Want some company?” The thought of being stuck inside with a parental cold feud was enough to make him anxious and nauseous all at once. “I could rent _Return of the Jedi._ Over.”

The radio crackled with excitement. “Really? I thought you wanted to watch it with everyone?”

“I do,” Mike said, “but I’d prefer to watch it with you first. What do you think?”

He could hear the smile in Will’s voice. “Definitely. Come over whenever. I’ll tell mom.”

“Ask her if she wants anything from the store,” Mike said. “I’ll be, like, an hour.”

“Okay. See you soon. Over and out.”

Mike packed quickly, stuffing some clothes into his backpack and, after a moment of hesitation, the copy of _Watchtower_ and _Magic’s Pawn._ He’d finished _Magic’s Pawn_ a few evenings ago, reading feverishly by lamplight and staying until the early morning. He had school the next day, but it was worth the rings beneath his eyes to finally find out what happened to Vanyel – especially his arc of self-acceptance, as dorky as that sounded.

Moving stealthily to avoid his parents, Mike made it out of the house and biked downtown. Robin wasn’t working at the video store; Keith was, the same Wookiee-sized teenager from the arcade. He left a fine orange dusting of Cheetos on the case of _Return of the Jedi,_ which Mike gingerly wiped down on the leg of his trousers before putting it in his backpack.

“How’s Mad Max?” Keith asked as Mike, on impulse, bought some candy for him and Will. Glancing up from counting change, Mike said suspiciously, “Fine.”

“She still reigns supreme,” Keith remarked, chewing noisily, and gazing out of the steamed-up windows. “She and that little friend keeping wiping the high scores. That’s,” he added, pointing with a Cheeto for emphasis, “unnatural goddamned talent, right there.”

“Okay,” Mike drawled. _Wait._ “Little friend? What do you mean? Who?”

“How am I supposed to tell you midgets apart?” Keith sucked his fingers clean before punching the keys on the till, which sprang open.

It couldn’t be El. Please say it wasn’t El.

“What does she – they – look like?”

“Like I said,” Keith snipped, glaring at him. “How would I know? Female. Ugly shirts. Medium height. Medium hair. Whatever.”

 _El._ “How often do they come in?”

Keith leered. “High school girls aren’t enough for you, Wheeler?”

Rolling his eyes, Mike said impatiently, “Just tell me, Norman Bates.”

“Don’t know.” Straightening up, Keith surveyed him from behind the counter with an unimpressed expression. The Cheeto packet lay abandoned. “I’m phasing out of the arcade industry. They play around on that skateboard in the parking lot and drive my boss insane.”

Mike grabbed his Reece’s Pieces and stuffed them in the pockets of his jacket. “Cool. Thanks.”

Keith watched him march towards the door. “I’m pretty sure murder over high scores still counts as murder, you know.”

“Really?” Mike turned around as he walked towards the door, shooting Keith a sarcastic smile as he did so. “If I need an alibi, I’ll call you.”

“Asswipe!” Keith called as the door swung closed behind Mike.

As Mike grabbed his bike, hopped on, and started cycling back through Hawkins to head out to the Byers’ house, he turned over this new information.

They hadn’t exactly talked about whether El should be… out in public. In the summer it was different: people’s cousins came to visit, people from neighbouring counties. The population of Hawkins swelled. And with everyone sporting tans, shorts, and pool-wet hair, it was hard to tell the teenagers apart. But Hawkins emptied out once school started, and Max wasn’t exactly a Hawkins unknown anymore, not since Billy’s death. She was the Californian with the red hair and the dead brother (sorry, _step_ brother). Mike assumed that as Mrs Byers was trying to home-school El, they’d decided to follow similar rules as when Hopper was alive. Namely, that El could go out, but she had to be careful. Don’t stay anywhere too long. Don’t draw attention to yourself. Blend in.

Was beating high scores and nearly getting run over in a local parking lot ‘blending in’?

Mike frowned and cycled harder.

The weather had turned over the past few weeks. Storm fronts from the north swept over Hawkins, bringing with it cool September air and cold waves of rain that soaked the streets. As he cycled, Mike’s hair whipped up and out of his face, and a frigid breeze burned his knuckles and snaked down the back of his jacket. When he at last wheeled into the Byers’ driveway, bumping over the uneven ground, his exposed skin stung, and he felt compensatory heat rise in his cheeks.

Dumping his bike in its usual spot, Mike thumped up the stairs and knocked on the door. Jonathan answered it, eyebrows quirking in surprise.

“Oh, hi, Mike,” he said, opening the door further to let him in. As Mike said, “Thanks,” and swept past him, Jonathan added, “Aren’t you supposed to be at the cabin?”

“Change of plans.” The television was on in the den – he could hear a gameshow – and, elsewhere, someone was trying to load the washing machine. Judging by the sound of swearing and occasional thumps, it was Mrs Byers, and it wasn’t going well. Mike pushed a tangle of curls out of his eyes and turned back to Jonathan. “Where’s Will?”

“In his room. Wait.” Jonathan made to stop Mike just as he started down the hallway. Jonathan frowned. “Is Nancy okay?”

Last night filtered through his mind. “Yeah,” Mike lied. “Ring her if you want. She’s at home.” He motioned over his shoulder and took a step backwards. “I’m going in to see Will.”

“Yeah,” Jonathan replied, sounding lost in thought, “sure.”

When Mike knocked gently on Will’s door, it slowly swung open to reveal Will at his desk, head bowed, sketching. When Mike sidled into the room and closed the door behind him, Will turned in his seat and grinned.

“Hey,” Will said warmly. His face fell. “Sorry about the cabin. Is everything okay?”

“No,” Mike moaned. He dropped his backpack, toed off his sneakers, and fell dramatically onto Will’s neatly made bed. It was probably the only thing Will always kept tidy. Though the rest of his bedroom appeared in order, it only took a cursory rummage to find clothes balled up, books stacked unevenly, and papers stuffed into drawers. It was exactly like Mike’s room; it was something they’d always had in common.

Flopping onto his back, Mike stared miserably at the ceiling. At first, he felt like joking around – _Nancy’s thinking of quitting college, can you believe that? –_ before the dust bleakly resettled over his mood.

“My sister thinks my parents are going to divorce.”

The words, even spoken aloud, did not feel real.

Mike felt Will’s shock. “What?!” He heard the chair push back from the desk before the mattress dipped on his left side, and Will was crossing his legs on the bed beside him. “Are you serious? What happened?”

Sighing, Mike rolled back over onto his front. He rested his chin on his crossed arms and peered up at Will through a shelf of his tangled curls.

“Nancy told me last night,” he mumbled. “Mom and dad have been fighting a lot this summer. Like, a lot. I noticed but I didn’t think it was anything to worry about… They’re always mad at each other. But it’s bad, this time.” Mike searched Will’s softening expression. “Nance says I should ‘prepare myself’, whatever _that_ means. She says I shouldn’t be surprised if they call it quits.”

“Wow,” Will murmured, frowning slightly. “Crap… I knew your mom was unhappy, but –”

“Wait, my mom’s sad?”

Surprised, Will blinked. “Yeah. I thought you could see it too. She – I mean…” Gently, he said, “She drinks a lot of wine.”

Mike felt defensive, although he didn’t know why. “All moms drink wine. Your mom drinks wine.”

“Yeah, she does, but… Forget I said anything. What else did you talk about last night?”

Because it was Will, and because the weight of the situation was bearing down on him, Mike didn’t rise to the challenge. Instead, he exhaled heavily and closed his eyes for one long moment.

“Nancy said that she didn’t want to go to college anymore, because if she did there wouldn’t be anyone to look after me and Holly.”

“What? But… your parents aren’t going to abandon you.”

“I know. I guess she’s trying to be, like, self-sacrificing, or whatever.” _And it doesn’t suit her._ “It’s bullshit, anyway. It’s not like I’m a kid. And, yeah, Holly’s still a baby, but mom and dad aren’t going to leave us all alone.”

“Maybe she feels like she has to step up.”

Mike opened one eye and focused, through a forest of curls, on Will. “What do you mean?”

“Well.” Will made a face and shrugged. “For two years straight she’s had to save our asses from the supernatural. Maybe she feels like if she goes away to college, she won’t be here if something else happens.”

“That’s stupid,” Mike proclaimed, although it made sense. “The Mind Flayer is gone. She can _go_ to freaking Sarah Lawrence.”

As he rolled over onto his back again, sheets bunching around him, Will said, “I hope your parents don’t get a divorce. How do you feel?”

Mike once more closed his eyes. “Honestly? I have no fucking clue.”

Will made an understanding sound. “When my dad left, I felt the same.”

Nancy’s story from last night came to Mike in a flash. Keeping his eyes closed, he tried to sound nonchalant. “Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah.” Will’s voice was faraway, as if he were looking out of the window. “I mean, the day he left was more explosive than what I can imagine happening with your parents.”

“Dad would probably just pretend to be going to work,” Mike remarked bitterly.

“Mom and dad had a big argument,” Will continued. “I don’t know what about. They fought over everything. And dad just charged out of the house –” Mike could imagine it: the knocked over telephone stand, a slamming door, Mrs Byers rushing out onto the deck, screaming, _And stay away!_ “Got into his car, and left. Like, a week later he mailed mom the divorce papers. They were postmarked from New Jersey.” Mr Byers, driving blindly through the night, chain-smoking, fumbling with the radio, red-eyed and burning up all that long-held anger. “Apparently he only came back to Hawkins when I went missing.”

Something sick and black rose in Mike’s throat. When he didn’t say anything, Will said, “Jonathan told me he came to the funeral.”

“The _fake_ funeral,” Mike corrected, almost harshly, but Will didn’t appear to mind.

“Still, he came back.” Almost as an afterthought, he murmured, “I’m glad I didn’t see him.”

A strange silence settled over the bedroom. From the laundry came the rhythmic ker-clunk of the Byers’ ancient washing machine. The crowd cheered on the television. Someone creaked past in the hallway outside.

“So, how did you feel?” Mike asked quietly. “When he left the first time?”

Will was silent for another beat. “I don’t know. Relieved, I think. Mainly that. Not happy, and not sad. I wasn’t even angry. I just felt… nothing.”

Mike thought of his parents: his mom and her soft blonde hair, her encouraging smile; and his dad, asleep on the La-Z-Boy, mouth open.

“I think if my parents get divorced,” Mike said slowly, “I want to live with my mom.”

Mike heard the smile in Will’s voice. “Moms _are_ the best.”

“Living with my dad would be the worst. I don’t even think he knows how to load a dishwasher.”

“That’s alright,” Will teased, “he’ll have you.”

Mike shook his head and wrinkled his nose, though he couldn’t help but grin. “If my mom didn’t practically whip me every meal, I wouldn’t do the dishes at all.”

“Same,” Will said, and they started to laugh.

“At least Jonathan’s a good cook,” Mike objected, once they’d calmed down. “Whenever he’s made us dinner when your mom was at work, it was always really nice. I like his, like, mashed potato and gravy thing that he does.”

Will groaned. “Don’t remind me! Jonathan’s trying to teach me to cook. I hate it.”

Laughing again, Mike propped himself up on his elbows and tipped his head back, peering at Will through more dark curls. “What? Are you serious? Why?”

Leaning back against the headboard of his bed, Will ran a hand through his hair and sighed. A smile teased the corner of his mouth. “Well, Jonathan’s working _and_ he’s a senior this year. Mom’s picking up as many shifts as she can at Melvald’s.” He shrugged. “I get it. I’m not a kid anymore. I should pull my weight around here.”

It went unspoken: _I can take care of myself._

Will had been taking care of himself for a long time. Mike suddenly felt childish in comparison, complaining about doing the dishes when the Byers worked every waking minute to scrimp their living together.

Will said, “Have you seen if there are any part-time jobs around at all?”

Mike’s instinct was to groan, but he controlled himself. “No,” he replied, still sounding more mulish than he intended. “But I doubt I’d be able to apply for anything. School is busting my ass. I swear I haven’t had a spare five minutes for weeks.”

“It’s not too bad,” Will mused, and Mike made a face. “I’m glad we have our study sessions, though. If it weren’t for Lucas, I would be in remedial math.”

Mike laughed and said, “That’s not true!”

Will widened his eyes. “It is. Lucas is a math genius.”

“ _That_ is undeniable.” Mike pushed himself into a sitting position and settled at the other end of the bed, legs outstretched, knocking knees with Will. They’d sat like this thousands of times before, babbling in excitement, sharing ideas long into the evening. Next door, Jonathan began playing some music. Mike recognised it from back in July.

“Hey,” he said, listening, “is this that band? The Smiths?”

Will smirked. “We’ll make a David Bowie of you yet.”

“Shut up. I’ll have you know I’m very cool. I listen to Tangerine Dream.”

“Wow,” Will replied sarcastically. “Are you sure you should be seen with me?”

Rolling his eyes as Will laughed, Mike gently nudged his legs and said, “Yeah, yeah.”

They grinned at each other. For the first time since arriving, Mike could look at Will unimpeded.

The lamp on Will’s nightstand was on, throwing out a mellow orange glow over his cosy bedroom. Paired with the silvery overcast light from the window, and Will looked… His dark eyes glittered happily, and a smirk teased the corner of his mouth, near a familiar birthmark Mike had a memory of once wanting to kiss. Will’s soft brown hair was parted over his forehead and hung over his ears, longer than it was all summer, making him, in his high-necked moss green sweatshirt, appear smudged at the edges, as if he were caught in the slides of a view-finder.

“Hey,” Mike heard himself say.

Will’s smile deepened. “Hi.”

Something hot swelled in his chest. Before he could think too much about it, Mike said, “I really liked _Watchtower,_ Will.”

A frown flickered across Will’s face. “Why are you bringing that up?”

Mike rubbed his lips together and mirrored Will’s frown.

Eventually, he admitted: “Because it’s been bothering me.”

Tilting his head to one side, Will said, “What has?”

“I liked Ryke and Errel,” Mike blurted. “And you were right. They were in love with each other.”

Although his expression didn’t change, Will stilled. He was so quiet and private in his movements that when he froze, it wasn’t immediately noticeable. But Mike could see it; he’d always been able to.

Mike’s pulse began to thump in his throat. He inhaled slowly.

“And I don’t care.”

They stared at each other.

“Okay,” Will said eventually. His eyelashes stuttered. “I…”

“I was worried you thought I was being an asshole,” Mike explained. “Like I was one of those people who thought that was gross, or weird, or something. But I don’t,” he added firmly. “And I’m sorry I was so – awkward about it. I was surprised, I guess. I’ve never… read anything like that before. But I liked it.”

The implication of his words reached him too late. At the last moment, heat rising in his face, Mike added: “I liked the _story_.”

Will nodded once, slowly. “Yeah,” he echoed, “I understand. I felt the same, actually.”

Mike leaned forward. “Really?”

Nodding more seriously, Will said, “Yeah. I’ve never… I mean, I wasn’t expecting it either.”

Nothing in Will’s tone or words suggested anything more than surface meaning, yet Mike’s pulse continued to thrum, and his neck prickled.

“It was an unusual story,” Mike offered, and Will nodded again, more quickly this time.

“Oh, yeah. It was almost a – a reinvention of a trope.”

“It was subverting the genre,” Mike said, and Will added, “It was brave, really, to reimagine the mould like that.”

Mike noticed that Will was blushing. They watched each other for another beat, almost cagily, something heavy and odd hovering between them. Mike searched Will’s eyes. _What are you thinking? What do you really mean?_

On impulse, Mike leaned over the side of the bed and pulled up his backpack. Glancing at Will, he searched through until he found the two paperbacks. Affecting nonchalance, Mike handed over _Watchtower_ and another book.

“I checked that one out of the library a while ago,” Mike explained, as Will took the books and looked at them curiously. “If you… I mean, now that I know you like this, um, genre-defying, uh, whatever… What I’m saying is, it’s similar to _Watchtower._ ” Will held up _Magic’s Pawn_ and scanned the blurb. Mike’s face burned. “I thought… you might like it.”

Seeing _Magic’s Pawn_ in Will’s hands, in his bedroom, felt surreal. _Magic’s Pawn_ was far, far more explicit than _Watchtower._ Not that there were any… It wasn’t about… It was just much more…

“It’s different,” Mike finished lamely.

Will slowly absorbed the front cover, running a finger over the illustration of the prince holding the neck of a unicorn. He looked up at last, his dark eyes like marble in the burning orange light.

“I can borrow this?” Will asked, and Mike mumbled, “Yeah, definitely.”

“Thank you.” He turned the book back over and smoothed his palm over the blurb. When their gaze met again, Will was smiling. He quirked an eyebrow. “Different, huh?”

“Good different,” Mike managed. Will’s smile had deepened and something wild and reckless gripped him, something that felt an awful lot like throwing caution to the wind. “Really good different, actually.”

* * *

Mike and Will hung out until dinner time. Mrs Byers had popped by around six to say there were leftovers in the fridge if they wanted them, otherwise she and El were catching up on _Dynasty_ (“The next season is coming out soon,” Mrs Byers explained; and, with a small smile, she added, “It’s El’s favourite”).

It was dark outside when they emerged to make some plates, which they ate standing in the kitchen, watching television through the doorway, before disappearing back in Will’s bedroom. By unspoken agreement, they only wanted to hang out with each other.

They were sitting on Will’s bed, Will by the headboard and Mike at the foot, with copies of _Camelot 3000_ scattered between them, when Mike remembered what Keith had said at the video store.

“Hey,” Mike started, lowering his comic book, and looking at Will, whose head remained bent towards his page. “How often do El and Max hang out?”

“You’ve asked me this, like, ten times,” Will pointed out drily, glancing up. “Often, I guess. Maybe less since school started.” Sounding wary, he added, “Why?”

“I went to pick up _Return of the Jedi_ and Keith – you remember him? That guy who used to work at the arcade? – said that El and Max are always over there playing arcade games. Apparently, they have all these high scores.”

Will shrugged. “So?”

“So,” Mike drawled, “why is El going out in public so much? Shouldn’t she stay inside and be, like, safe?” When Will rolled his eyes and returned to his comic, Mike put his comic down and frowned. “What?”

Sighing, Will said, “Nothing,” and Mike said, “No, go on.”

“It’s just…” Will raised his eyebrows and straightened up to focus on Mike properly. “Don’t you think you’re over-reacting? I think this summer proved El is more than capable to look after herself.”

“It’s not about that,” Mike refuted quickly, thinking of Max accusing him of controlling El. “What if the Russians are still hanging around? Or – or the government,” he added, inspired. “What if those scientists change their mind and want El back? What then?”

“I mean… I don’t know. Mike –” Will appeared to change his mind. “Forget it.”

Mike tried to catch his eye. “What is it?”

Will levelled him with a look torn between wariness and pity. “I don’t want to upset you.”

“You won’t upset me.” Although, that did depend on what Will wanted to say. “C’mon, what?”

“Alright.” Will lowered his comic and closed it, marking his page with one finger. He studied Mike’s expression for a moment. “It’s just… Do you…” He closed his eyes once, briefly, as if he were steeling himself, then said, “Do you still like El?”

Mike’s stomach lurched. Then, all at once, he burst out laughing. Flustered, Will blinked rapidly. Mike rubbed a hand roughly through his curls and scrunched his nose, still laughing. It was like a summer’s worth of uncertainty suddenly spilled from him. When he at last caught his breath, his heart felt lighter than it had in weeks.

“No,” Mike managed at last, grinning. “I don’t.”

“Oh.” Mollified, Will stared at him, colour blooming in his cheeks. His eyes were very, very dark. “Okay. Uh, good.”

“Good?” Mike teased.

Will’s blush deepened. “Not _good_ ,” he amended, smiling, “just… now I know.”

Shooting Will a quicksilver smile, Mike straightened up, his curls tangling in his eyes. He pushed his fringe to one side. “El’s my friend. I still care about her. But I don’t like her. Not like that.”

It teetered on the tip of his tongue – _now I’m not sure if I ever did –_ but he swallowed instead.

Will was nodding slowly. He looked down at the comic in his hands for a moment, then back up at Mike. “Did you – how long have you known?”

“As in, how long have I known I didn’t like her anymore?”

Will nodded again. Mike leaned back against the footboard, frowning gently.

“I don’t know,” he replied, half-thinking it was a lie, but perhaps it was the truth. Somewhere between diving into the quarry and dark movie theatres and cycling in the summer twilight, he’d simply stopped thinking of her like that.

Slowly, as if he wanted to understand, Will said, “It just… stopped?”

“I guess.” Was that right? It must be.

There was something in Will’s expression that made Mike ask: “Was it – I mean, has it seemed like I still liked her?”

To his surprise, Will blushed again, this time in embarrassment. “Sometimes,” he muttered. “I don’t know. Maybe I wasn’t paying attention properly.”

Automatically, Mike said, “That’s not true. You paid enough attention to ask me. No one else has.”

Will shot him a wry look. “They probably don’t want to piss you off.”

“I’m not that much of an asshole!” When Will laughed, Mike tried to fight back a grin. “What? I’m not!”

“No, sure,” Will replied. “Except you’ve given teenagers a bad name this summer.”

Stung, Mike muttered, “Now _that’s_ a lie.”

“Okay, maybe that’s harsh,” Will relented, except he was still smirking. “I’m sorry. It’s been a weird summer all ‘round.”

Thinking about his tangled, heated dreams, and the many dawning realisations about himself he’d had over the past three months, Mike made a face. “You can say that again.”

“I’m sorry if I crossed a line,” Will said gently. “You haven’t been too bad.”

Mike raised his eyebrows. “I ignored my friends, _ditched_ my friends, made out _constantly_ with a girl –” So quickly it might have been his imagination, Will flinched – “Yelled at my whole family, _argued_ with my whole family, and acted like the biggest asshole this side of Hawkins.”

“You haven’t been too bad to _me_ ,” Will corrected. Before Mike could say anything, he held up a hand. “And we’re not getting into all that again, so drop it.”

Mike shook his head and smiled. “I seriously don’t deserve you as a friend.”

Will scoffed. “C’mon.” The colour returned to his cheeks, and he shot Mike a pleased smile. “Just… read your comic. I want to know what you think about it.”

“Fine,” Mike replied, pretending to go back to _Camelot 3000._ Instead, he surreptitiously watched Will, who continued to smile long after they’d fallen quiet.

* * *

An hour or so later, Mike got up to go to the bathroom.

“Can you bring me a soda?” Will asked, glancing up from his comic. He was stretched out lengthwise on the bed, socks bunched around his ankles, over-sized sweater pulled up over bony wrists, his hair mussed. Mike’s heart ached just to see him.

“Sure,” Mike replied, and, shooting Will a smile, left the room, closing the door behind him.

The hallway was dark, illuminated only by the lamplights in the den, which was on the far side of the kitchen. Padding down the hall, Mike emerged into the kitchen and noticed that only El remained awake. She sat on the couch silhouetted against the television, wrapped in a blanket. The ashtray on the coffee table was close to overflowing: Mrs Byers must have recently gone to bed.

Yawning hard enough to crack his jaw, Mike went over to the fridge and pulled it open. He stood blinking in the harsh light for a moment, then picked up two cans of soda. Closing the fridge door with one elbow, he glanced back into the den and started: El was twisted around on the couch, watching him.

“Uh.” Mike was suddenly conscious that he was in a pair of Will’s old sweatpants and the same polo shirt he’d worn all weekend. “Hey.”

“Hi,” El said quietly. Her hazel eyes peeked over the lip of the blanket like winking beetles. She straightened in her seat and rested her chin against the back of the couch, glancing at the soda cans he balanced in one hand.

“How’s Will?” she asked. “I haven’t seen him all day.”

“He’s – he’s fine. We’re reading comics.” Mike gestured at the television behind her. “I don’t think you’ve moved since this afternoon. What are you watching?”

“It’s a marathon,” El replied, the word _marathon_ stretched slowly out, as if she were recalling how to pronounce it, “of _Dynasty._ Season six is soon. Joyce watches it with me.” She shrugged. “It’s her favourite.”

“I think Mrs Byers thinks it’s your favourite,” Mike pointed out.

“I don’t care,” El said, and he knew she didn’t. “It makes her happy, to watch TV with me. It reminds us of Hopper.”

The name fell heavily between them. Mike half-imagined Hopper was in the other room, listening to his adopted daughter speak so casually about him.

Mike wandered slowly into the den. The television was on low ( _Now just 9.99 at every local Woolworth’s!_ ). The lamp in the corner was the only other source of light, plunging the den into a fluid blend of flickering images and velvet shadow.

“I’ve been meaning to check in with you,” Mike started tentatively, “to see how you’ve been since…”

“The 'fire'?” Mike thinned his lips sympathetically. Tilting her head so she rested against her cheek, El blinked up at him. “I’m okay. Not good, but not bad. I miss him.”

“I miss him too.” He realised it was true. “Even if he did bust my balls.”

“Max said he was being protective,” El said dismissively.

“If that’s what you want to call it,” Mike muttered. In a normal tone of voice, he said, “What’s it like, anyway? Home school?”

“I don’t do it.”

“But you’ve got to study something.”

Abruptly, El turned away. “No.”

Mike frowned and came closer to lean one hip against the back of the couch, still standing. “Uh, yeah. You can’t just watch TV all day. You have to learn stuff. And then when you get older, you can get a job. It’ll be fun,” he added, sounding unconvincing even to his ears.

“I don’t want a job,” El objected coolly. The television light played over her profile, casting her in sharp relief against the yawning darkness.

Mike could feel himself getting frustrated. “But what are you going to do?”

Shrugging, El said, “Whatever I want.”

“But you _can’t,_ that’s the _point._ ”

El turned her unsettling gaze back to him. “I can,” she enunciated, “and I will. Max and Joyce said I can do what I want, as long as it doesn’t hurt anybody. And I _don’t_ hurt anybody.”

“I never said you did,” Mike said, exasperated. “But you won’t be a kid forever. Soon, you’ll grow up – we both will! – and you have to join the real world.” Changing tack, he tried: “What if you went to college? Or what if your powers came back, and you used them at your job, like in secret. You could be the best employee without even trying. Or –”

“You act as if I’m normal,” El pointed out. “I’m not normal.”

_Normal, regular, boring. Abnormal, freakish, eccentric._

Without thinking, Mike blurted: “I’m not either, but at least I try!”

They stared tensely at each other.

Gently, El said, “Mike, you’re allowed to make the rules.”

Mike felt flustered. “I know that.” The advertisement break cut out – _Dynasty_ was back. A blonde woman was in a kitchen, pretending to read a magazine. Mike pushed off from the couch. “Sorry I disturbed you,” he muttered, sounding more bitter than he intended, “see you later.”

El twisted in her seat to watch him go. When he crossed the threshold of the kitchen, she softly called: “Mike?”

Without turning around, he stopped.

“I’m okay now,” El told him. “You don’t have to worry about me.”

Mike kept walking.

When he returned to Will’s bedroom, Will was still reading the comic. He looked up as Mike closed the door.

“Oh, thanks. What took you so long?” Will must have noticed Mike’s expression, because he added, “What happened?”

Still frowning, Mike sank onto the bed. He wordlessly handed a can of soda to Will, who accepted it and pushed up into a sitting position.

Abruptly, Mike said, “El is going to be okay. Isn’t she?” When Will didn’t respond, Mike lifted his eyes from the carpet and looked at him. “She has you, and Jonathan, and your mom. She doesn’t need me anymore.”

Will put his soda can on the nightstand. “Mike, I don’t think that’s fair.”

Realising that Will thought he was upset, Mike shook his head quickly. “No, I’m fine about it. It’s just a weird feeling.”

“El’s always been her own person,” Will said softly, “but I think Max has helped her feel more confident about it.”

“Yeah,” Mike echoed. “Yeah, I know.”

“So, what is it?”

“It’s…” Whatever he was feeling didn’t have words. It was, in a strange and probably insulting way, as if he had just noticed that an injured wild animal he had been tending no longer needed him. And, okay, that was probably a really bad analogy (hadn’t Max accused him of treating El like a pet?) but Mike couldn’t think of anything better. El didn’t need him anymore. Maybe she hadn’t for a while. And he felt, suddenly, very stupid for not realising sooner. “Nothing. I don’t know how to explain it.”

“I understand,” Will said, and Mike knew that he did. When their eyes met, Will smiled so warmly, Mike’s heart ached all over again.

“Want to keep reading for a while? When El goes to bed, we can watch _Return of the Jedi._ ”

Shyly, Mike smiled. “That would be great.”

* * *

Mike’s eyes fluttered open some indeterminable amount of time later. The black television screen was flickering in the corner, the VHS player whirring in the soft dark; it was caught at the end of the reel. The Byers’ furniture swelled around them in the inky night. Mike’s neck ached from the odd angle: he was curled against pillows at one end of the couch. A blanket swallowed him. Someone’s bare legs shifted against his own. Will’s breaths came to him, slow and steady. Mike closed his eyes, feeling his dream loom over him, warm and welcoming. His left hand was stretched out, hot under the covers, and he recognised that his fingers were tangled up with someone else. Will’s hand tightened against his, once, then relaxed. An exhale, a murmur, shifting where he lay. Mike sank back asleep.


	30. Chapter 30

Mike arrived home from school the following Tuesday to find his mom sitting slumped at the kitchen table.

A soft, silver-grey light illuminated her from behind. His mom’s halo of golden hair curled damply around her face; to his surprise, he realised that she wasn’t wearing makeup. Without it, she appeared much younger than she usually did; she looked, in fact, very similar to Nancy.

“Oh! Mike.” His mom ran a tissue beneath her eyes and sniffed. Shaking her hair back, she looked up and tried to smile. “How was school?”

Mike took in the cafetiere of coffee, the empty cup, and, inexplicably, a still-smouldering cigarette perched on an amber-coloured glass ashtray. His mom followed his line of sight and stabbed out the cigarette. A plume of smoke swirled against the yellow wallpaper.

“What’s going on?” Mike asked slowly, taking a few steps towards the table. “Is it dad?”

His mom blinked rapidly. “Is it – Oh, honey.” Pinching the bridge of her nose with manicured nails, she exhaled shakily, then lowered her hand and levelled him with another smudged, sad smile. “No, it’s not your father. Well… No, it’s fine, sweetheart. You’re home early!”

Ignoring her attempt to deflect the conversation, Mike went and sat on the chair beside her, dropping his backpack to the carpet. He took off his jacket – it was sprinkling outside, the clouds low and heavy – and flung it over the back of his chair. Usually, his mom would reprimand him ( _Can you_ please _hang that up, Michael?_ ), but she didn’t appear to notice.

Her face was flushed. The dressing gown he rarely saw her in was tied tightly around her waist; she wasn’t wearing any jewellery. As she blotted her eyes once more, Mike noticed she had removed her wedding ring.

Staring at her finger, he said, “Mom, seriously, _what_ is going on?”

She sighed unsteadily. “It’s complicated,” she replied. “It’s nothing.”

The radio was on in the kitchen; the news jingle began to play. For a long moment there was nothing but the pattering of the rain outside, his mom’s occasional sniffs, and the murmur of news anchors.

“Where’s Holly?” Mike asked, feeling disorientated. He thought fleetingly of Nancy in his bedroom – _Who’s going to look after you and Holly? –_ and swallowed past the rising lump in his throat. “And where’s Nancy?”

“Nancy is with Jonathan,” his mom replied, sounding stuffy. “At least, I think she is… Holly’s upstairs, having a nap. Oh, Mike.” Abruptly, she grabbed his wrist and bowed her head, pressing her fingers to her forehead. Shaking her head, she whispered again, “Oh, Mike…”

Panic threaded its way through his system. “Mom,” Mike tried, voice loud. “Mom, _please_ tell me what is going on!”

She coughed, stifling her mouth with a damp tissue. Appearing to steel herself, his mom raised her head and once more shook back her hair. Her eyes, when she looked at him, were bright and glassy.

“Michael,” she began, her voice little more than a hoarse, plaintive whisper. “Your father has gone to stay with your aunt for a little while.”

Everything slowed to a crawl.

Feeling as if he were watching this play out from across the room, Mike heard himself say: “You mean he’s left home?”

His mom sniffed. “Not quite. It’s… As I said, it’s complicated. Your father believes he needs a _break._ ” The word simmered with bitterness. “He’ll stay with your aunt Maryanne for a week or so.” She plastered on a smile. “No big deal. Hey? It might even be fun. You, me, Holly, and Nance. We could hire some movies. Maybe get takeout.” Aside from KFC, Mike had never had takeout before; it was a relatively new, special treat in Hawkins. “What do you say?”

Mike shook his head, stunned. “Mom, I don’t care about takeout. Why has dad gone? What did you do?” The moment he said it, he regretted it. “Wait, sorry, I didn’t mean that –”

“No, no, it’s fine. You are your father’s son.” His mom removed her hand from his wrist; the absence of warmth felt like a reproach. Keeping her voice steady, and as if she were reading carefully from a script, she said: “Your father has gone to your aunt Maryanne’s because he needs some space. His work is very stressful at the moment. It would be best if he concentrates on that responsibility for a while.”

“But we’re his responsibility!” Mike burst. “We’re his family! He can’t – he can’t just _leave_ whenever shit gets hard! That’s the whole _point_ about being a family.”

“Michael,” she admonished, but there was no heat in it. His mom pursed her lips and stared into the middle distance. “You’re right,” she murmured, “but what’s done is done.”

His voice quivering with repressed anger, Mike said: “He’s weak.”

Shocked, his mom looked at him, her eyes wide. “Mike!”

He raised his chin. “It’s true. He’s weak, and stupid, and work isn’t _hard,_ he just can’t be bothered to try and look after us.”

His outburst appeared to rally his mom because she sat up straighter and frowned slightly. “Please do not speak about your father like that. He is doing his best. Sometimes, being the best means making sacrifices. Your father is making a sacrifice to focus on his work, because that is the best for us.” When she said _us,_ Mike wasn’t sure if she meant the family, or their marriage.

Mike slumped back in his chair, scowling. “That doesn’t make what he’s doing right,” he retorted.

“For what it’s worth, I agree with you,” his mom replied tersely. “But there’s nothing we can do, so we may as well deal with it.”

 _By watching movies and having takeout,_ Mike thought.

The parking space outside the dining room window was empty save for his mom’s station wagon. He probably wouldn’t see his dad’s car there for a few weeks unless he had to come back to the house to pick up clothes. Mike fervently hoped he wouldn’t see his dad; he didn’t know if he could control himself.

After a moment, he said, “Isn’t there _anything_ we can do?” There was always something. There were wrist-rockets and fortifying old school buses and exorcisms by burning fires. There was _always_ Plan B.

His mom spread her hands and shrugged once. “I don’t know. If there is, I haven’t thought about it. But honey…” She stretched out as if to hold his wrist again. Slowly, Mike uncrossed his arms, and she took his hand in her own, smiling softly at him. “I’m not going anywhere. Okay? I’m here for you.”

The news jingle played out merrily. [A popular, moody song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vF9zKmUk72g) faded in: “ _Out of the ruins, out from the wreckage… Can’t make the same mistake this time…”_

Tearily, his mom said, “I love this song.”

“Mom,” Mike complained, gingerly holding onto her hand. A fat tear fell onto the tabletop. “Please don’t cry. Mom…”

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” She took a deep, shuddering breath, and firmly wiped her eyes. “I’m finished now, I think. I’ve always loved Tina Turner.”

They sat in silence for a moment, his mom listening to the song and blinking wearily, as if she were incredibly tired, and Mike chewing his lip and staring unseeingly out of the window. Rain continued to fall, heavier in the past ten minutes than it had all day. Through the net curtains two kid-shaped blobs rushed past on bikes, yelling to each other. As the song faded out and a more upbeat tune faded in, his mom let go of his hand to blow her nose on her tissue. After putting the tissue in the ashtray, his mom fidgeted with the cigarette butt.

“You can smoke,” Mike said, as if he had any say in the matter. “I don’t care. Mrs Byers does all the time.”

His mom laughed. “Yes, I know Joyce and her cigarettes,” she replied wryly. “I don’t even know why I got them out. They’re so stale. I haven’t smoked in years.”

She pressed her fingers to her closed eyes, then lowered her hands and fixed Mike with a sympathetic look.

“I’m sorry you had to see me like this,” she murmured. “I didn’t want to worry you kids. It makes me feel like – like a bad mom.” The admission was quiet, secretive, like this was the first time she’d said it aloud.

“You’re not a bad mom,” Mike replied automatically, frowning. After a beat, he added, “If you and dad get a divorce, can I live with you?”

“Michael!” She looked shocked. “We’re not getting a divorce! Who told you that?”

He narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “No one,” he lied. “How do you know?”

“How do I know we’re not getting a divorce?” When Mike nodded, his mom tilted her head and thinned her lips. “Honey, I’m the one married to your father. And I’m telling you, we aren’t divorcing.” She opened her mouth then closed it. Mike half-imagined her say: _Not yet, anyway._

“You didn’t answer me,” she added, injecting some false cheer into her tone. “How’s school?”

A few responses flicked through his head – Troy, English class, Will – but Mike merely shrugged.

“It’s whatever,” he replied lightly. “Just school.”

“Oh, come on,” his mom joked. “You have to give me more than that! It’s your first year in high school. It must be a shock. I remember being a freshman. I was terrified.”

Mike recrossed his arms and slumped further in his seat, his long legs kicking out beneath the table. “I don’t know. It’s okay, I guess. The classes are hard. But we have a study group, so it’s not so bad.”

“Oh, yeah?” His mom smiled. “What a fantastic idea. I should have known you’d do something like that.” In the pause that followed, she toyed with the cigarette butt in the ashtray, watching him with bare, bright hazel eyes. Abruptly, she said, “And how’s Will going?”

Mike’s heart skipped. “Will? Uh… he’s fine. You know, normal.”

“How’s he finding the transition to high school?”

“Okay, I guess.” Mike resumed chewing his lip.

His mom nodded slowly. “Good. That’s good.”

The song on the radio slid into something melancholy. His mom dropped her eyes to the table for a long moment. When she looked back at him, her expression had shifted into one of intent.

“Honey,” she started gently. “I’ve been thinking… I’ve been meaning to ask you about – something. All this stuff on the news about – you know. It must be scary. God knows it scares me.”

Mike’s heart skipped again, this time with fear. Carefully, he said, “What do you mean?”

His mom surreptitiously inhaled.

“AIDs,” she said, the word falling like a lead weight.

Mike stared at her.

“Do you know what I’m talking about?”

How could she know? She couldn’t know – could she? She had no idea that he was… I mean, why would she? He’d had a _girlfriend._ Not that she really knew about El, but still…

“I – Sorry. Uh. Why are you asking me about this?” Mike was aiming for the fine line between belligerent and ignorant. “I don’t know anyo—I don’t know anything about all that, uh, stuff.”

When his mom frowned, a small furrow appeared between her brows, creasing her otherwise smooth skin. “I assumed the school was talking to you about this. It’s a serious national health crisis. Albeit a controversial one.” She cleared her throat awkwardly. “But it’s important to stay… _informed_ of issues like this. Do you remember,” she added, “earlier this summer, when that boy in Kokomo County fell ill?”

“No,” Mike lied, feeling sick.

“It was terrible,” his mom continued earnestly. “The doctors gave him six months to live. He caught – contracted – AIDs through blood products. Do you know what I’m talking about?”

When Mike stayed silent, she sighed. “Anyway, the reason why I wanted to ask was because President Reagan talked about the crisis for the first time today. I can’t believe the school hasn’t said anything…”

“Do we even need to know?” Mike blurted. The bile in his throat wasn’t imaginary; he could taste the sour lap against the roof of his mouth. He better not hurl all over his mom’s tablecloth. “I mean, we’re not _in_ Kokomo.”

Patiently, she said, “I know that. But that doesn’t make it any less frightening. I care about you, Michael. This is a big year for you. Starting high school, this horrible crisis… I wanted to check in with you. See how you’re doing.” Trying a soft smile, she reached her hand across the table in silent gesture, so he could hold her hand if he wanted.

Mike stared at her hand, then looked back at her. “I’m fine,” he managed. “I—I don’t know anything about – any of that.”

The frown returned. “Alright.” Brushing some hair out of her face, his mom inhaled deeply. “But I want you to know… If there’s anything you want to talk about, I’m here for you. Okay? Anything at all.”

Dumbly, Mike said, “About AIDs?” And his mom laughed once, taken aback, and said, “No. Not just about AIDs. I mean in general.”

Because she expected an answer, Mike said, “Okay.” Then: “Can I go?”

His mom blinked. “I—Yes, sure. I guess so.” As Mike abruptly got up and gathered his backpack and jacket, she said, “Do you want anything special for dinner?”

Mike gave her a thin-lipped smile and shook his head. “No," he replied. "All good. I’ll eat whatever.” When he reached the doorway, he paused, and looked over his shoulder. Frowning, he said, “Hey, mom?”

“Yes?” In the few beats his back had been turned, her face had fallen. She looked young and frail. Her fingers were back at the cigarette butt, lacquered red nails tapping against the amber-coloured glass.

Mike took in her soft blonde hair, her damp eyelashes, the shadow that lingered in her troubled expression. At length, he shook his head. “Nothing. I just hope you’ll be okay.”

“Oh, Mike.” She gave him a watery smile. “Don’t worry about me; I’ll always land on my feet. It’s what we Wheelers do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The final part will be posted soon! In the meantime, please comment, leave kudos, or come visit me on [Tumblr!](https://sevensided.tumblr.com/) And don't forget to binge Tina Turner.


	31. Chapter 31

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **This is the final part of ADATS!** Thank you so much to everyone who has stuck by me these past few months. It has been a pleasure to finish this work. Don't forget to visit me on [Tumblr](https://sevensided.tumblr.com/) and remember to listen to the [official Spotify mix for this fic.](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5TFVk7xKdyNpN2vmzta58q?si=zpjG-RRZSuavLC-oOJhVuQ)

Part Four  
**2 – 16 October**

* * *

October dawned harsh and cold with most days plunging to the mid-fifties. The rain finally let off, the storm clouds sailing wetly to the west, abandoning Hawkins to bluster and damp. School continued as it had. Troy appeared to grow sick of the Party, and his torments tapered off towards the end of September. Dustin hypothesised it was because he was falling behind in his classes, which, given Troy’s panicky, confused look every study hall, was probably accurate.

“Seriously!” Dustin continued, as Mike and Will sat on the couch in the basement and laughed. “He’s always been a meathead, but this is a new low. I bet even James is embarrassed to be around him.”

“Considering he’s trying out for the basketball team,” Lucas added from his usual spot on the armchair, legs thrown to one side, throwing a tennis ball up in the air and catching it, “that’s pretty likely.”

“James Dante?” Mike exclaimed, slumping back against the cushions with his legs crossed on the coffee table, resting his socked feet on a textbook. “Trying out for basketball? What happened – did he suffer a concussion over the summer?”

Lucas made a face. “He’s tall as hell. Dude’s built like a house. I dunno, I could see it.”

Will shared a look with Mike and sighed. “Great, so now he’ll be a jock as well as a bully.”

“Maybe he’ll lose interest like Troy,” Mike tried.

“Their singular focus on tormenting others is a unique gift,” Dustin remarked. “They’ve got two braincells between them and high school is making them work overtime.”

Will snorted with laughter, and Mike grinned. “That is so mean,” he said admiringly.

Dustin shrugged and returned Mike’s grin, his eyes crinkling at the corners until they were two glittering buttons.

“Alright.” Catching the tennis ball in one fluid motion, Lucas shifted until he was seated properly. He put the ball down and clapped his hands together. “C’mon. We gotta study.”

Mike groaned. Will, whose notebook lay abandoned in his lap, dropped his head against the back of the couch.

“How much more could we possibly do?” Will complained, giving Lucas a plaintive look. “We either bomb the test tomorrow, or we don’t. There’s only two options here.”

“You’re such an optimist,” Lucas observed drily, as Dustin said, “You are _not_ going to bomb, Will, Jesus.”

“We might,” Mike objected. “Besides, how I can concentrate knowing _James Dante_ is probably going to end up stuffing us in lockers, or dangling us by our ankles on top of the science block?”

Dustin flipped a page in his textbook and shot him a flat look. “Your Kool-Aid consumption is reaching dangerous levels, you know.”

Groaning, Lucas said, “Who cares about James? We gotta keep studying. I need to ace this. Just shut up and tell me what you have for question fourteen.”

As Will miserably began leafing back through his notebook, Mike griped, “What’s the big deal? You’re going to be fine no matter what.”

“Yeah, resident math genius,” Dustin teased; Lucas flipped him off without even looking.

Something suddenly occurred to Mike.

He surreptitiously studied Lucas’ profile. After flipping over a page or two, Lucas glanced up and caught Mike’s gaze. Raising one eyebrow, Lucas said, “Uh, why are you looking at me like that?”

In his peripheral vision, Mike felt Will look up from his notebook and glance between him and Lucas. Dustin, who was sitting on the floor on the other side of the table, popped a handful of Nerds into his mouth and mumbled, “I sense tension.”

“You always sense tension,” Lucas snapped.

Mike narrowed his eyes. “Why are you trying to raise your GPA?”

Lucas shrugged uncomfortably. “I’m not.”

“You’re already top of our year,” Mike pointed out. “You have no legitimate need to push for a higher grade, unless…” On impulse, he added: “You’re trying out for basketball. Aren’t you?”

As one, Will and Dustin turned to Lucas, who averted his gaze.

Stunned, Dustin lowered the packet of Nerds. “ _What_?!”

“It’s nothing,” Lucas muttered, and Mike exclaimed: “I knew it!”

“How did you know?” Will asked urgently, nudging Mike’s side.

“He knows jack shit,” Lucas retorted, just as Mike crowed: “I knew there was a reason!”

Will and Lucas began to speak at once, their voices bubbling over one another. Dustin held up both hands and shushed them, saying, “Shut up! Stop! Silence! Lucas.” He fixed Lucas with an intent look. “Dude, what’s going on? What’s Mike smoking?”

Lucas exhaled and threw his pen down. “Jesus, do I have to tell you guys everything?”

“Yes,” Dustin replied promptly. Lucas rolled his eyes.

“Are you really trying out for the team?” Far from the rest of them, Will’s voice was calm and earnest. Mike looked at him: Will watched Lucas unblinkingly, his large dark eyes unusually inscrutable.

Sighing, Lucas leaned back in the armchair. As if to himself, he said, “Okay,” and in a normal tone of voice continued: “Okay. Yes, I’m trying out for the basketball team. I probably won’t get it. So, you can all… calm down.”

“But _why_?” Mike couldn’t keep the strain of disdain from his tone. Going by the way Lucas’ eyes flashed, he noticed.

“Because I want to,” Lucas replied tartly. “Maybe I’m good. I don’t know. But I don’t just want to be smart. I can be smart _and_ athletic. I don’t want to be pigeon-holed as a ‘math genius’ or a nerd, or whatever. I’m more than that.”

Dustin’s brows drew together. “There’s nothing wrong with being a nerd.”

Impatiently, Lucas said, “Did I _say_ that?”

There was something Mike didn’t understand. “But why basketball? It’s so…” He struggled for a moment. “Jock-ish.”

“Jesus.” Lucas looked immeasurably disappointed in them all.

“I think I get it.” They all looked to Will, who nodded and glanced between them. “I do. I mean, it’s like what you said. High school is a chance for reinvention. If you want to try something new, now’s the time. Right?”

“I guess,” Mike replied, although the question hadn’t been aimed at him and was rhetorical besides. Frowning, he searched Lucas’ eyes. Slowly, he said, “You’re sure about this?”

“You make it sound like I’m joining the army,” Lucas griped. When Mike didn’t respond, he pursed his lips. “Yeah, I’m sure. It’s really not a big deal.”

Mike was unconvinced. “Maybe.”

There was a tense pause.

“Well, I’ll come to your games.” Will smiled warmly at Lucas. “So long as you get me court-side seats.”

“Only the top players get the perks,” Lucas retorted, but the look he gave Will was shyly pleased. “Yeah, sure. Thanks, man.”

As Will said, “You got it,” Mike narrowed his eyes and said suspiciously, “You’re going to have time for D&D, right?”

Lucas spread his hands. “I don’t know. Maybe. I don’t know what the training sessions are like.”

“Are you going to have to, you know…” Dustin looked incredulous. “ _Exercise_ every morning?”

“Probably.”

“You’ll have to wear sweatbands,” Will added, and Mike muttered, “Yeah, to match _James Dante_.”

Lucas heard this last remark and gave him a deadpan look. “Dude. I am never going to be friends with James Dante. The guy is a troll.”

“Good,” Dustin said crisply, picking up his box of Nerds again. “Because we’ll kick you out of the Party if you do.”

As Lucas scoffed, Will and Mike began to laugh. Dustin merely grinned wickedly.

“Party rules,” Mike yelled over Lucas’ rising objections. “Number whatever, subsection – also whatever. ‘If an existing member intends to depart, the council will meet to examine the request, and act accordingly’.”

“That’s bullshit!”

“Those are the rules,” Mike replied smugly.

“We won’t kick you out,” Will assured him. He smirked. “You’ll be disowned. It’s different.”

“Oh, thanks, man,” Lucas said sarcastically, as Dustin and Mike broke into renewed laughter.

* * *

As it turned out, Lucas proved entirely serious about trying out for the basketball team. While Mike nursed a private hope it wouldn’t eventuate and the Party would stay together, later that week Lucas disappeared after school for tryouts.

Although he and Will had dissected the matter as they rode home together, debating the pros (Lucas would be cool, potentially making them cool by proxy) and the cons (he might make new friends – asshole friends) Mike wasn’t convinced. In hindsight, it was obvious that Lucas had been thinking about this for a while. He wasn’t sure what hurt more: that Lucas had kept it a secret for so long; or that he’d decided without consulting the rest of them.

Not that the Party were a hive-mind – that came out wrong. They’d just always done everything together.

If Mike was honest with himself, he knew he was being unfair. Lucas had every right to have kept his ambition a secret… just as Mike had every right to keep his newfound attractions to guys private. If anything, Lucas and basketball sort of represented what Mike had feared since June: the Party, fraying at the edges.

Was this just the beginning? Would there come a time when the Party were scattered to the wind for good?

All of this felt too jumbled to express to another person, no matter how obliquely he tried with Will. Mike decided to zip it. With the death-march of school and his parents’ living situation, he didn’t really have enough time to worry about Lucas (this, of course, didn’t stop him mulling it over anyway).

His dad still hadn’t returned from their aunt’s place. His mom made meatloaf, did the laundry, took Holly to day-care, and talked for hours on the phone to her friends. Mike overheard her telling Lucas’ mom that Ted was on an extended business trip ( _Between us, Tara, it’s a great opportunity for him, career-wise_ ). On the outside, she looked normal.

But she’d also started smoking again.

Mike knew, logically, that his mom probably wanted him around for some kind of emotional support, but the Wheelers’ home, or what was left of it, felt weird, as if it were on the brink of something. It didn’t help that Mike now knew, without a doubt, that… Well, even if he couldn’t _say_ it, he could think it. Unexpectedly, he didn’t feel so bad about liking guys anymore. Since watching the movie Robin recommended to him, he’d returned to Hawkins Family Video a few more times, usually in the afternoons after school or on weekends, taking out more movies about… gay people. Most of them were freaking depressing.

“Why does everyone end up dead?” Mike asked Robin one blustery Thursday afternoon, leaning against the counter, watching as she sorted a huge pile of VHS tapes.

“Haven’t you heard?” Robin replied blithely. “It’s propaganda otherwise.”

“That’s stupid,” Mike decided, and Robin shot him a smirk.

“Yes, it is,” she replied, stretching the words out like taffy. “But there you have it: our fucked-up sense of middle-class morality deigns that subsets of society are less than. It’s not true,” she added pointedly, “but few things about the bourgeoisie make sense.”

Sometimes Robin sounded like she belonged anywhere but Hawkins.

What Mike meant was that it was stupid that any old movie about a guy and girl was totally fine, but as soon as there were two guys or two girls, suddenly everything was wrapped in double meanings.

“I mean, look at my friends Lucas and Max,” Mike began. “They’ve always spent time together, because they’re dating, but now that Lucas is trying out for basketball, it’s like… _excessive_.” He widened his eyes meaningfully. “Like they’re making up for lost time. Like, yesterday afternoon…”

He, Will, and Dustin had turned up for their study session, as usual. Lucas, however, was conspicuously absent.

“Lucas and Max are at the cinema,” Dustin had told them, dumping a load of textbooks onto the rickety table.

Mike frowned and looked up from the cassette box that he and Will were sorting through, trying to find something for background music. “Wait,” Mike said, “like, on a date?”

Dustin made a face and nodded. “Duh. Guess making out on Max’s bunkbed was getting old. Hey, do you have a spare calculator?”

“In my desk upstairs,” Mike replied automatically. “But, like, why are they doing that? Aren’t they already together?”

“Lucas is wooing her,” Will remarked, shooting Mike a small smile. “It’s what you do when you’re in love.”

“They’re in love?!” Mike yelped, and Dustin sighed as if his disappointment in Mike went beyond words.

“I swear,” he said, “you really are the most oblivious person I know. Yes, knucklehead, they’re in love and they’re dating. Which means they do romantic shit like go to the movies.”

“Since when are they in love?”

“Since this summer, I think,” Will replied mildly. “El told me.” He chose a cassette and put it in the tape-deck. The opening chords of an Echo and the Bunnymen song filled the basement.

Mike turned on Will. “El told you that Lucas and Max were in love?”

Startled, Will glanced at Dustin, and shrugged. “I mean… yeah. Max told El, and El told me.”

Dustin was watching Mike’s puzzled expression with a look of sympathy. “Man,” he mused. “Not only are you oblivious and unsubtle, you are one unromantic sucker.”

“I can be romantic,” Mike had muttered, still scowling.

It was hard, if not impossible, to explain that the reason why Mike was so surprised was because it was now clear: Lucas and Max were a Thing. It wasn’t just a summer fling, and it had lasted longer than a few months. They were together, officially and for the foreseeable future, and that, above all else, served as another painful reminder to Mike that they really were all growing up. He and Will had talked a lot that summer about moving on, changing. But to know that one of his best friends was not only dating someone but felt seriously about her was… weird.

“I don’t know,” Mike summarised, still slumped against the counter at Hawkins Video. He rested his chin on his crossed arms and looked up at Robin, who ceased sorting through the VHS tapes and raised her eyebrows at him. “Does all of that even make sense? There’s almost no way to describe what I mean without sounding like an idiot.”

“No, I understand you perfectly.” Robin began twisting her necklace around one finger. The pendant flashed under the fluorescent lights. “Something you thought was temporary has turned out to be permanent.”

“Yes! Exactly. God, you’re just like Will. He always knows just how to express things.”

Robin gave a one-shouldered shrug. “When I was your age, I was devastated that the crush my friend Alison had had on Paul Cooper wasn’t a passing phase. It was, and I quote,” she used two fingers for emphasis, “‘the real deal.’ Eh, I remain unconvinced. It was cute for about five minutes. It became overwrought _very_ quickly.”

“It’s not that I care,” Mike objected, voice muffled from where his chin was squashed. “It’s just that they’re so, like, sure of what they want. I mean, how do they _know_ they’re in love?”

Robin sighed. “Alas, how does anyone know?” She thought for a moment. “But, I guess, in the same way that _you_ know certain _things_ about yourself, they would too. You just figure it out. If it feels natural, it’s right.”

Reflexively, Mike turned to glance at the door – no one was there. They’d never spoken about it, but Robin knew what he was: she was the only person in Hawkins who did. He didn’t know when she’d figured it out because he certainly hadn’t said anything. For all he knew, it was from the first time he rented _Making Love._

Exhaling through his nose, he straightened up but remained slumped against the counter. “Yeah,” he replied reluctantly. “I suppose. Oh,” he added, “did you talk to your boss about me?”

The week before, Mike asked Robin whether there was a job opening at Hawkins Video. He hadn’t asked because his dad had wanted him to get a job – he asked because, selfishly, he figured that if he worked at the store, he would get first pick of any interesting movies that arrived. The fact that working would get him out of the house and away from the increasingly uncomfortable atmosphere was just a bonus.

Robin dropped her pendant and made a motion that was halfway between pointing at her head and a salute. “You reminded me.” She pushed off from the wall and went over to the computer, where from a drawer beneath the counter she retrieved a slip of paper. Robin slid it across the counter towards Mike, who picked it up with a frown.

“So,” she drawled, “my boss says yes, you are permitted to apply to become one of us. _However…_ ” She shot him a grimace. “There are all these rules to stop us backsliding, you know, like, into the previous century. Indiana child labor law stipulates you must get parental permission before you do so much as wipe Keith’s disgusting Cheeto fingerprints from the keyboard. And as you’re under sixteen, you can only work, like, four hours a week.”

“Crap,” Mike muttered, lowering the paper. “That’s basically nothing.”

“Well, you do still have to go to school,” Robin reminded him, her eyebrows raised. “And, yeah, I know I sound like your mom when I say that, but it’s true.” Noticing his expression, she added kindly, “Hey, don’t get down about it. I didn’t get a job until _I_ was sixteen. Employment is severely overrated.”

Catching sight of something over his shoulder, she smirked and interrupted herself: “And look what the cat dragged in.”

Mike turned to see Steve swagger through the doors. “That’s the silver cat to you,” he joked, flashing Robin a grin. He wore the Hawkins Family Video vest over a striped polo shirt; his nametag, written in red marker, read STEVE!

As he passed Mike, Steve clapped him on the shoulder and said, “Hey, buddy, what’s up?”

“Since when are you early for work?” Mike complained; he’d wanted to keep talking with Robin alone.

Steve rounded the counter and joined Robin, who’d resumed leaning against the back wall. Looking between Mike and Robin, Steve shrugged and widened his eyes, _Duh_ style.

“Yeah, and? Who says I’m not passionate about returning copies of _Ghostbusters_ for, like, the millionth time this week…” Steve nudged past Robin and noisily logged into the computer system, his tongue sticking out the corner of his mouth as he typed his password. Mike watched in agony: Steve was like his dad as he hunted and pecked at the office typewriter, one finger at a time. Glancing at Mike, Steve added, “Why are you here, anyway? Shouldn’t you have homework?”

Mike made a face. “Blow me.”

“Woah! Okay, pottymouth. Who have you been hanging out with? Little Erica Sinclair?” Steve exchanged a smirk with Robin. He gestured with his chin and straightened up. “Seriously, though, how’re you going? What’s high school like? Is old – oh, God, what’s her name –” Steve clicked his fingers. “Rogers! Is Mrs Rogers still teaching history?”

Mike scowled. “Didn’t you graduate last year?”

“Yeah, dingus,” Robin chimed in, pretending to kick Steve beneath the counter. “It’s not your twenty-year reunion just yet.”

“Oh, ha-ha,” Steve retorted. “Can’t I be nice? I’m making conversation.”

“Why does everyone always ask about school, anyway?” Mike muttered. “There’s more to my life than freaking basketball tryouts and cheerleaders…”

“Because _those_ are both items of interest for you,” Robin deadpanned; Mike gave her the finger.

Steve crossed his arms and leaned one hip against the counter. “Nah, you’ve got a point. All my dad ever asked me about was school.”

“Which was fortunate for you,” Robin pointed out, “given your propensity for casual drug use and underage drinking.”

“Wow.” Steve stared at her, hurt. “Low blow.”

As Mike laughed, the door opened. As one, both Steve and Robin looked past Mike to the new customer. Glancing at Steve, a flushed Robin murmured, “I got it,” and slipped away.

Steve watched her retreat. Mike studied his profile for a moment. He could see why Nancy thought Steve had been the hottest guy in Hawkins. Even now, a year out of school, with his exuberant hair, nervous hands, and the lost, slightly despondent expression he got whenever he thought no one was looking, he remained one of the best-looking guys Mike, at least, had ever seen in real life. But he’d also witnessed Steve with his tongue down his sister’s throat, and that was enough to quell his heated feelings usually reserved for Michael J. Fox.

Then, Steve said, “Man, I could murder a KFC bucket right now,” and Mike was reminded that this was babysitter Steve, apron-wearer and wielder of baseball bats. He was about as hot as a gym teacher’s mouldy sock.

God, puberty sucked _so_ much. One pair of bare legs or a stupid, lop-sided grin, and he turned into a mess of hormones. At last, he knew what Lucas had been on about that afternoon at the quarry, when he was stressing out about seeing Max in a swimsuit.

To take his mind off… things, Mike asked: “How’s the new job, anyway?”

Steve turned to look at him, his eyebrows quirked pleasantly. “The job? Yeah, it’s good. Great, actually. Turns out I’m not very gifted at popcorn slinging, so this is a step up.” He feigned disinterest. “How’s, uh, Nance? She’d be applying for schools early next year, right?”

The mention of his sister reminded Mike that they still hadn’t made up. He shrugged and began picking at the edge of the peeling linoleum counter. “She’s okay. Stressed out. It’s kind of complicated right now.”

“That sucks,” Steve commiserated. “You know, I tried writing a college essay once. They’re basically impossible. ‘What is your life ambition’, and all that crap. How are you supposed to know, you know? When you’ve just finished school, you don’t know _anything._ But you’ll be fine.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well…” With a quick glance towards the stacks, Steve leaned forward a little and added in an undertone: “Compared to what you’ve been through, _you_ know… getting into college will be a piece of cake.”

Mike knew Steve was referring to the Upside Down, but Mike privately thought that this past summer’s black scribble was far scarier than any supernatural threat. At least with the Mind Flayer there were ways to destroy it.

“Shouldn’t you give yourself that advice?” Mike asked curiously. “Without you and Robin at Starcourt –”

“And that’s what I think about the game!” Steve interrupted loudly, turning around, and spreading his hands in the style of _That’s all, folks!_

Turning to follow Steve’s line of sight, Mike noticed Robin and the customer had approached the desk. Robin’s eyes read murder; her smile read peaceable retail worker.

“Oh, yeah,” Mike hastily added, glancing between Robin and the customer. “The game. Totally.”

“And what game might that be, fellow co-worker?” Robin asked coolly, rounding the counter with the air of a lioness on the hunt. Her smile broadened as Steve faltered. “Is this the magnificent ‘sports ball’?”

“I don’t know – I mean, yeah,” Steve muttered, and the customer stifled a laugh. She was around the same age as Robin and Steve, with a mane of dark hair and liquid black eyes. Dressed in all black, she looked like she ought to be hanging around with someone like Jonathan, not at Hawkins Family Video. The television behind the counter was playing _Beverley Hills Cop._ The incongruity of Robin’s fixed expression, Steve’s desperate grin, and the wannabe punk made Mike smirk.

“Hey, I know you.” The girl’s voice was a warm drawl, as if everything were a joke. She gestured lazily with one hand; her nails were painted black. “King Steve, working the corner store.” Amused, she added, “Small world.”

The way Steve said, “Oh, hey,” made Mike think Steve had no idea who this chick was. Steve coughed and said, “Do I, uh… Have we met before?”

“Not formally,” she replied, glancing at Robin, who was staring so hard at Steve it was like she could shoot lasers out of her eyes. “But I’ve been in your orbit, so that has to count. We graduated together.”

“Right, right,” Steve mused, looking blank. “Sure, sure.”

One of the girl’s eyebrows quirked. “Samantha Stone.”

“Right!” Clicking his fingers, Steve gave her a brilliant grin. “Sam. Cool. How—how are you?”

“It’s Samantha,” she corrected drily.

“Knew it,” Steve said. “I said that, right?”

Before things deteriorated any further, Robin pointedly said, “Sorry to break up the reunion, but… did you want those checked out?”

Samantha smirked and handed a couple of VHS tapes over the counter to Robin; she took them deftly, colour rising in her face. Mike caught glimpse of one title: _The Colour Purple._

“Thanks,” Samantha drawled, waiting as Robin side-stepped Steve and surreptitiously elbowed him away from the computer (“I’m going, I’m going!”). Shooting her a smile, Robin said, “No problem. It’s my—I was going to say pleasure, but, I mean, it’s _quite_ literally my job.”

They started a conversation. Mike noticed Steve fiercely motioning to him from the other side of the counter, over by the candy. Frowning, Mike wandered over, walking around Samantha, who was now leaning against the counter and laughing at something Robin had said.

“Get over here! Mike!” Steve’s hisses made Mike frown, and when he was in earshot, Mike said, “Dude, what is your problem?”

“Just… when I say get over here, I mean it.” Exhaling nervously, Steve pretended to rearrange the packets of chips, openly spying on Robin and the customer in his peripheral vision. To himself, Steve sarcastically muttered, “Oh, yeah, real nice, Harrington, what a team player...”

“No wonder you lost your job,” Mike remarked, smirking.

Steve glared at him and snipped, “And you’ve grown into such a polite young man.”

“Why are you acting so weird?” Mike looked over at Samantha, who evidently found Robin the funniest person on the planet. “Do you like her, or something?”

“Do I—No! God, no. I don’t think… Well.” Making a face, Steve focused his attention on stacking candy bars. “I mean, she’s nice. But I don’t think it’d –”

“I can’t _believe_ you flirted with her in front of Robin.” No wonder he and Nancy had broken up.

Startled, Steve stared at him for a loaded moment. “F—Flirted? Me? No. I think you’ve got the wrong end of the –” His eyes narrowed. “Wait, why would it matter that Robin’s around?”

Suspiciously, Mike said, “Because you’re dating.”

In the silence that followed, Robin’s voice carried throughout the store (“I personally find Cannes a poor indicator of artistic merit”) and it jarred with a series of gunshots and screeching tires from the television. Onscreen, Eddie Murphy’s character yelled, “Oh, boy, here we go!”

“Right.” Steve sounded strangely light-hearted. “Of course. Yeah. Me and Robin.”

“You have been since July?” Mike prompted, searching Steve’s expression for clues. “Dustin said –”

“Dustin said what?” Steve interrupted sharply.

Robin came bustling up, hissing, “What the hell is wrong with you?”

Mike glanced at the door: outside, Samantha was unlocking the door of a black Datsun. He looked back at Steve, who had his hands up in surrender. Steve and Robin sized each other up, Robin holding a marker in a way that construed it as a weapon.

“You dingus!” Robin moaned, caught between frustration and a bemused helplessness that made them seem more like siblings than boyfriend-girlfriend. “Why did you have to King Steve me? _Why_ couldn’t you have _remembered_ what we _agreed_ that when girls come in, you go stand in a corner and look pretty?”

Groping for something to say, a subdued Steve admitted, “I am good at that,” and Robin pointed with the marker and said, “You are _so,_ so good at that.”

Mike frowned between them. “Am I missing something?”

Steve’s hands, which were still in the air, closed into fists. He and Robin had a non-verbal conversation, then he turned on his heel and fixed Mike with a serious look.

“So,” Steve started, stretching the word out like gum, eyebrows crinkling in thought, “ _Dustin_ told you we were dating?”

Puzzled, Robin asked, “Who’s dating?” She caught Steve’s eye. “Oh! Yes. We are dating.”

Feeling like he’d missed a step on the way downstairs, Mike’s face scrunched up. “Okay, _what_ is going on?”

Robin and Steve exchanged another look. By degrees, their demeanour changed: Robin shook her head as if to say _God, I don’t know_ ; and Steve dropped his hands and exhaled heavily.

“Alright,” Steve started, at the same time Robin said, “So, the thing is –”

A family spilled through the doors of the store. As children raced past Mike to get to the kid’s section, and a woman’s voice called, “Excuse me, miss? Can you check a title for me?” both Robin and Steve appeared to sag in relief.

“Right away, ma’am,” Robin replied, shooting the customer a smile. Before she left, she gave both Steve and Mike a warning look. Once her back was turned, Steve ran a hand through his hair, looking like a hunted man.

“Complicated, huh?” Mike remarked, raising one eyebrow.

Sounding like a defeated man, Steve replied, “Michael, you have no idea.”


	32. Chapter 32

One afternoon before Fall break, Mike was in the basement watching a movie when his radio crackled to life.

“Mike?” Will’s voice hitched, as if caught on a bad frequency. “Are you there? Over.”

Onscreen, Danny’s new landlord Malcolm introduced himself holding a basket of fruit. _Subtle,_ Mike thought drily. Dragging himself off the couch, he padded over to the VCR to mute _The Gay Deceivers,_ then went to the table, where his handheld radio sat on top of his D&D board.

Mike picked it up and clicked the receiver. “Hey, I’m here. Over.”

“Mike!” The relief in Will’s voice bloomed down Mike’s back; the hairs rose on his arms. “I thought you might be out. Over.”

Rubbing his arms, Mike padded back over to the couch and slumped against the cushions. “I’m just at home.” He watched the TV for a moment as the main character paced around his living room, gesturing wildly as his handsome roommate looked on. Refocusing on Will, Mike clicked the receiver in and added, “You okay? Over.”

“Yeah,” Will replied quietly. “I’m… Actually, something’s happened.”

Mike instantly sat up. “What?” he asked urgently, pressing the radio against his ear. “Where are you? Are you alright?”

“I’m fine. Well… Yeah, no, don’t panic. I’m fine, really.”

“Then what’s wrong?” If he could avoid his mom in the kitchen, he could get his bike from the garage and ride to Will’s with enough time to spare before dinner. He glanced out the basement windows: dark clouds gathered on the horizon. “Will? Talk to me.”

The radio crackled for one long, painful moment, as if Will had held down the receiver but wasn’t able to speak. Just as Mike opened his mouth, Will said, “Can you come over?”

“Yes! I’ll be there in ten minutes. Okay? Don’t worry.” Mike leaped up and turned off the TV. Then he snatched the radio back up and added: “Over!”

“Okay.” Will sounded steadier. “Over and out.”

As Mike dashed upstairs, all he could think about was what had happened. It couldn’t have been the Upside Down again… right? The Mind Flayer was gone, burned to a crisp. But that didn’t necessarily mean the world that existed alongside Hawkins was gone forever.

Panic rose in his throat as he hurried around his room. Mike pulled on a pair of jeans and a sweater over his t-shirt. As he threw himself on his bed and jammed on his sneakers, he remembered how subdued Will sounded. Maybe it was his mom? Or El? Or Jonathan? Maybe – no, it couldn’t be his dad. Mr Byers couldn’t step foot in Hawkins without Mrs Byers running him over in her old green car.

Whatever it was, Mike just hoped Will was alright. Whatever it was, Mike could fix it.

He closed his bedroom door quietly behind him and began padding down the stairs, his footfalls near-silent on the plush carpet. His mom was in the kitchen singing softly to herself as she did the washing up. A soulful song was playing on the radio: _Though I’ve tried to resist being last on your list, no other man is going to do… So, I’m saving all my love for you…_

It was a single dash from the stairs to the front door. Mike inched around the corner and peered into the kitchen: his mom was elbow-deep in suds, her back to him. Inhaling surreptitiously, Mike tip-toed across the foyer, opened the front door, and managed to squeeze through like a rogue.

Once outside, the cold air bit at his exposed skin. Mike picked up his bike and wheeled it down the drive, hopping on just before it hit the flat. As he turned left and began peddling towards the Byers’, there came a distant rumble of thunder. Wind rose and pushed against his back. Dried leaves tumbled over the tarmac.

Mike was so lost in thought he almost missed the turn off into the Byers’ driveway. His bike bumped over the uneven ground, rolling to a stop beside Will’s own bike. Neither of the Byers’ cars were parked in the drive, and as Mike thumped up the porch steps, he couldn’t see El’s skateboard anywhere. Will was home alone.

Mike knocked a little too hard on the door. “Will!” he called. “It’s me! Open up!”

Almost at once, the door swung inwards.

Will blinked in the silvery light. His dark hair was brushed back from his forehead, and his dark eyes swelled when they met Mike’s. Will was wearing his moss green sweatshirt again, and he had a pair of sweatpants on. Before Mike could say anything, Will smiled.

“I’m okay,” Will assured him. “I promise.”

Mike let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding.

“Good,” he replied, sagging against the doorframe. Searching Will’s face, Mike felt himself smile softly. “I came as quickly as I could.”

Will rolled his eyes, but he seemed pleased. “You didn’t have to,” he mumbled, half-embarrassed, stepping aside to let Mike in. He closed the door behind them. “I didn’t want you to worry.”

Mike looked at Will over his shoulder and smiled as he shucked off his backpack. “No, don’t worry. I’d come over anyway. I wasn’t doing anything important.” Dumping his backpack by the hatstand, he toed off his sneakers and glanced up at Will. “So, if it’s not an emergency, what’s up?”

For the second time that afternoon, Will sounded apprehensive. He opened his mouth, paused, then closed it again and shook his head. “Do you want to go to my room?”

“Uh, sure.” Mike’s curiosity mounted. He followed Will down the narrow, poorly lit hallway. Outside, somewhere, came another boom of thunder. As they entered Will’s bedroom, rain began to spit against the roof.

Then he noticed the boxes.

They were stacked beneath the window opposite Will’s bed. While they appeared empty, someone had made a half-hearted effort to start packing: there were a few comics stacked on the carpet beside the boxes, along with a few old toys and action figures. Mike took in the rest of the bedroom. Paper and pencils were still scattered over Will’s desk, and his bed was mussed but made. A space lamp was sticking out of a box on the bedside table.

Tearing his eyes away from the peculiar scene, Mike looked over at Will.

Slowly, he said, “What’s going on?”

Will visibly swallowed. Closing the bedroom door, he went over to the bed and sank down by the pillow. Mike felt compelled to follow suit as he had a thousand times before, but something prompted him to drift over to the desk. Will had clearly been sorting through his drawings; Mike glimpsed a doodle of a certain dark-haired paladin astride a horse.

Mike trailed a hand over the neat set of pencils. Frowning, he turned back to Will.

“Seriously,” he added, “what’s with the boxes?”

Then Will’s dark eyes skittered away, and Mike knew.

Will cleared his throat. He dropped his gaze to the bedspread. “Do you… um. Do you remember when I told you a few weeks ago about my mom? She was talking about moving.”

No. Oh, no.

“She, um. She thought more about it. And with Jonathan going into senior year, and trying to get his grades up… And work, you know, at Melvald’s, has been really slow, and it’s been hard to keep up with, um, bills, and everything… And she thought that with everything that’s happened with the M-Mind Flayer and El…”

Mike watched Will as if from far away. Will kept picking at one spot on the bedspread, like he was trying to tunnel through, to disappear.

“—Struggling with school. She says she does work, but we all know she just waits for Max to come over after school to hang out with her… Mom says it’s not good. El needs to grow up. Like she’s – like she’s normal…”

Will, gone. Gone forever.

“—Just something mom thinks will be best for us. Like in the long run. I don’t… Yeah, anyway.”

Mike was still staring at Will when he looked up. Those lovely dark eyes bloomed in surprise.

“Mike? Did you hear me?”

Will, gone after everything they’d been through together. Moving away, like none of it ever mattered. Like Mike never mattered.

“Mike?”

Mike shook his head slowly. His ears felt hollow; it echoed like a stone swallowed by water. He forced himself to cross the carpet to sink onto the foot of the bed. Rain began drumming against the roof in earnest. A damp draught whistled through one of the windows.

Mike pulled his eyes up to where Will was waiting. Soft hair lay across his forehead. He looked broader across the shoulders than the last time Mike had seen him. He was getting older. This was always going to happen, sooner or later.

But that wasn’t true.

“This is his fault.” Mike’s voice was low and hoarser than he expected. Will stilled as he absorbed Mike’s meaning. “If he hadn’t come to Hawkins, none of this would be happening.”

In one stuttering blink, it felt like all the warmth was sucked from the room. Will’s eyes flashed with tears. Instantly, Mike reached over and gripped Will’s hand.

Warmth slid over them both, as if in a hot bath. They exhaled. Mike tightened his fingers.

“Hey,” he said softy, ducking his head to catch Will’s downcast gaze. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have… It’s just, it’s true. If the Mind Flayer hadn’t come here, none of that horrible shit would have happened. We’d be normal. You wouldn’t…” A lump swelled in his throat. Suddenly, Mike wanted so badly to cry.

“You wouldn’t be leaving.”

“I know,” Will replied, his voice wobbling. He tried to smile at Mike but the action stuck, like a view-finder between slides. Unconsciously, their fingers wove together. Will made a visible effort to compose himself. “But maybe it was always going to happen, in some way or another. We would have had to move away for college anyway, right? This is just… bumping it up a few years.”

“More than a few years,” Mike interjected weakly. His bottom lip trembled; he bit it, hard. “Will…”

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.” Shaking his head, Will looked down at their interlaced fingers. Somewhere in the back of Mike’s mind was a voice that warned him to stop, to let go and pretend like it hadn’t happened. Instead, he focused on the dry, warm feeling of Will’s hand fitting perfectly in his and committed the sensation to memory.

“I wanted to,” Will continued, “but mom didn’t make up her mind for the longest time. She only told me last night. I didn’t know – I didn’t know how to tell you.”

Because Mike didn’t want to give himself away, he said: “What’s the Party going to do without you?”

“You’ll find another mage. Remember those comics I found at the thrift store?”

Mike realised he was shaking his head. The bedspread swam before him. At once, hot tears brimmed and slid quickly down his cheeks.

“Oh, my god.” Flushing, Mike roughly wiped his face with his free hand. Will’s fingers tightened against his own. “This is stupid. I’m crying like a kid.”

Will leaned over and, so suddenly Mike might have imagined it, brushed his thumb beneath Mike’s left eye.

He stilled.

A confused heat pounded through him, once, like a drum. Mike lowered his hand and slowly looked up until he met Will’s eyes.

Will’s eyebrows were pulled together, but whether it was out of concern or trepidation, Mike couldn’t tell. He realised Will was biting down on his bottom lip, and his eyes dropped to the motion. Will let go: his mouth was bruised red and wet. Something twinged in Mike’s chest. Longing persuaded him to linger over the sight: Will’s smooth skin, his birthmarks, the flush in his cheeks, the way his black eyes spilled into Mike’s, as if they were two streams uniting. Mike realised he was slowly smoothing his thumb over the back of Will’s hand. Will stared at him for another beat. Then, he leaned slowly forward and brushed beneath Mike’s eye again.

“You had a tear,” Will explained, very quietly.

His hand rested against Mike’s cheek for a moment, and Mike was filled with a desire to tilt his head sideways and curl into Will’s soft palm, to let Will comfort him, hold him.

Another, smaller voice in the back of his mind wondered: how bad would it be? To lie together on Will’s childhood bed, tangled up, saying without saying what Mike felt with every trembling part of his body?

The hollow, sad feeling returned. Mike murmured, “Am I still crying?”

Will’s face was very close to his. Will shook his head ever so slightly.

Then, before Mike could do anything, Will lowered his hand from Mike’s face.

Thunder rumbled once more through the house. Rain lashed against the windows. Will focused on something over Mike’s shoulder. At once, he leaped off the bed.

Mike twisted to watch Will dash to the window and slam it shut. The curtains settled damply against the frame. Water dripped steadily down the wallpaper and onto the floor.

“Oh no!” Will moaned. He crouched and moved the boxes away from the soaked carpet. He sighed. “Crap. Mom’s going to kill me.”

Mike felt stunned, as if he’d woken from a deep sleep. He heard himself say: “Maybe if we destroy Hawkins’ supply of cardboard boxes, you won’t be able to move.”

Will shot him a sad smile. “I think my mom would still find a way.” He picked up a handful of damp comics and sighed again.

As Mike watched Will carefully sort through the debris on the floor, he was struck by the tenuousness of this moment. What would happen – I mean, really happen – if he got up off the bed, went to Will, and just… did it? If he kissed him, like he’d wanted to all summer? Would it destroy everything – their friendship, their history? Or would it be the start of something new, something better?

He could do it. Mike could stand up, right now, his hand still warm from Will’s grasp, his cheek still flushed with yearning. He could walk on unsteady feet to Will and help him up. They might watch each other for a moment, as they felt the abyss of possibility yawn before them. It would be like jumping off the rocks at the quarry. Terrifying – then exhilarating.

He could do it. He should do it.

He watched Will stack the comics and stand up, dusting his hands on his sweatpants.

He wasn’t doing it. He couldn’t.

Will looked over at him and smiled.

Mentally shaking himself, Mike sat up straight, crossed his arms, and leaned against the footboard. “When – when are you moving? Actually moving, I mean.”

Will’s smile faded. He picked his way back across the carpet and sat on his desk chair, kicking his feet up onto the side of the bed. Mike wondered what Will would do if he shifted just enough that their socked feet touched.

“After fall break,” Will replied lowly. He began picking a spare thread on his sweatpants. “Mom said it would give us enough time to say goodbye.”

“Oh.” The word fell heavily between them. “I see.”

Their eyes met.

Will blinked once, shyly, and Mike tilted his head and watched him for a long moment.

The words spilled from him: “I’m going to miss you.”

Will’s face crumpled. Ducking his head, he quickly swept a hand over his eyes. When he looked back at Mike, he might have appeared composed had Mike not known him so well. He knew the signs: the soft unhappiness in Will’s eyes, the tension in his jaw, the way his mouth pursed. He knew Will better than anyone. And now he was leaving.

Mike shifted so their toes brushed together. Aware of his own earnest urgency, he asked, “Are you going to come back?”

“I don’t know.” Will bit his lip, as if he were stopping himself from something. “But Chicago isn’t that far. You could visit me. You could catch the bus? If your mom… if she lets you.”

“Yeah.” Mike couldn’t look away from Will’s fathomless eyes. They bloomed black and wet and were large as stars.

_I want to kiss you,_ he thought desperately. _I want to kiss you._

“I’ll come,” Mike promised. “I will. I don’t care about school. Mom could even drive me. She could visit your mom, and I could visit you. And we could write letters. We could plan a campaign for when you come back here.”

A smile unwound itself from the tight corner of Will’s mouth. “I’d like that,” he replied softly. “Thank you, Mike.”

“Don’t thank me.” Don’t thank me, please. You wouldn’t thank me if you knew what I wanted. “Will… you’re my best friend. And as you said, Chicago isn’t so far. I’ll come as often as I can.”

“Yeah.” Will searched Mike’s face. “Okay.”

“I swear.”

Mike uncrossed his arms and held out his hand, which was long-fingered and pale, dotted with a thousand freckles and calloused from too many bike rides. When he caught Will’s eye, he dredged up a smile.

“You have to shake my hand,” Mike joked. “It’s kind of a rule.”

When Will laughed, the sound of it made Mike’s heart tighten. He tilted his head as his smile widened into an affectionate grin. Will’s laugh faded into a smile.

“Okay.” Will took Mike’s hand in his own; they shook. _Remember this,_ Mike thought suddenly. _Don’t forget what he feels like._ “There. Deal.”

“It is a deal,” Mike echoed. “I’ll come to Chicago. You’ll see me so much it’s like you never left.”

Something shifted in Will’s expression, something Mike hadn’t seen before.

“I’ll hold you to that,” Will said, and Mike’s grin wavered only once, only for a moment.


	33. Chapter 33

Of all the fall breaks the Party had spent together, this was the most painful. None of the Party seemed to know how to react. Lucas and Dustin were equally shocked, though only Dustin cried. He’d clung to Will and made him promise a hundred times to send postcards, to call, to accept his mom’s care packages… Lucas was more stoic – he always had been, even when Will went missing – but Mike knew how much Lucas cared about Will, and when he heard the news, Mike saw something chip away inside Lucas, and he’d ducked his head to hide how his eyes swam. Max was upset mainly because El was leaving.

“She’s Max’s best friend,” Lucas explained one evening down in the basement, as they were curled around a D&D board for a last-hurrah campaign. “I mean, aside from us, Max doesn’t have any friends. It’s really hard on her.”

“It’s hard on all of us,” Mike snapped, glancing up from fidgeting with his die. He resisted glancing across the board at Will, although he felt that dark gaze rest on him. “She’s not the only one who’s losing a best friend.”

Once, Dustin and Lucas might have rolled their eyes and made some brusque comment about Mike acting nicely. Now they only shared a look and changed the subject.

Even Mike’s mom had been shocked when she heard the news.

“Joyce is _leaving_?” Mrs Wheeler stared at Mike and paused with the coffee pot in mid-air. “She’s _moving_? To _Chicago_?”

“Yeah, that’s what I said.” Mike gestured with a bit of toast. “Mom, your cigarette.”

“Oh, damn.” She quickly put down the pot and took a final drag on the cigarette perched between her fingers. Exhaling over her shoulder, she stubbed it out and frowned to herself. “I should give her a call. Would you excuse me?”

Mike didn’t know how Nancy felt. In fact, he’d hardly seen her since their argument weeks ago. When he had caught a glimpse of her – in the hallway, reversing her car down the driveway – Nancy’s face was pinched, her hair flat. The dermatitis she got on her hands when she was stressed had flared up again; Mike noticed the bottle of special ointment had returned to their shared bathroom medicine cabinet. This wasn’t like what she’d expected when she and Jonathan would be leaving together for college. This was Jonathan leaving – alone.

Mike suspected he knew how she was feeling.

It honestly felt surreal. True, Will had told them back in the summer that Mrs Byers was thinking of moving. But that had been relegated to the realm of hypotheses: the Byers couldn’t _leave_ Hawkins, it was impossible. Mrs Byers had been born here, as had Will and Jonathan. They were as Hawkins as Hawkins itself. Them, leaving. And not to a small town, but to _Chicago._ Mike had never been. He imagined it to be like New York, or maybe a bigger version of Indianapolis, which Mike had visited once with his parents. What would Chicago be like? Would Will enjoy it?

When Mike thought of Will, he didn’t picture the city. He thought instead of autumn woodland, and thick sweaters, and awkward haircuts blown free by the cold breeze. He was reminded of notebooks, and notepads, and coloured pencils, and dragons.

So many terrible things had happened in Hawkins. But they’d fought back; they’d made it safe again. They had turned the bad dream good.

Although Mike wanted time to slow down, so he had enough opportunity to enjoy every remaining second with Will, the fall break had different plans. Every time Mike caught a snapshot of something to remember – Will, falling asleep on his shoulder during movie night; Will, laughing and bumping elbows; Will, picking a cassette and turning those marble-black eyes on no one else but him – it was swept away.

In fact, Mike and Will didn’t have a single moment alone in the week leading up to the Byers’ departure. Lucas’ parents had everyone over to theirs for a big dinner, with Mrs Sinclair cooking them the biggest roast chicken Mike had ever seen. Mrs Henderson invited them to a picnic where the adults talked over suspiciously pungent hot cider, and the rest of them threw leaves at each other and tried to sneak sips from the thermos. And every time Mike realised that this was it, this was the last time they might all be together again in Hawkins, and he resolved to get Will alone, there would be somewhere else to be, and something would happen, and before he knew it, they were one day closer to Will leaving forever.

Mike didn’t even know what he would do if he and Will were alone. All he knew was that he wanted it to be just them. Just for a moment.

On the Thursday before the end of fall break, Mrs Byer invited them over for a party. Well, party wasn’t quite the word she used – “It’s a ‘goodbye get together’,” Will explained to them, smirking, “but it’s totally a party” – but it was as good as the were going to get.

That Friday evening found Mike up in his room, agonising over what to wear.

He stood in front of his bed and scrutinised, hands on hips, the two shirts laid out on the bedspread. One was a white button-up reserved for special occasions; the other was a neat polo shirt. He figured he’d wear a woollen sweater over either of them, given Hawkins had plummeted into a pre-Halloween frigid snap. Mike already had on a pair of nice slacks, and his good shoes were by the door. The clock on his nightstand showed he had ten minutes before Nancy would be honking her car horn down in the driveway.

Still, he stood there.

Mike hopelessly looked between the shirts. “Fuck.”

He roamed over to the desk and back again. The world beyond the windows was velvety and black. He caught sight of himself in the mirror and groaned anew. Wild curls sprang from his head, tangling in his eyes and around his ears. Impatiently, he scraped back his fringe only to reveal more of his frog face. Scowling, Mike combed his fringe forward.

Someone knocked on the door.

“I’m not dressed!” Mike yelled, and in the hallway outside Nancy replied, “Hurry up, Mike! If we’re going to be there on time, we have to leave, like, now.”

Mike rolled his eyes. “I _know_ that, Nancy.” The white shirt or the polo? He held them both up and sniffed the armpits. Ugh, not the polo. He tossed it on his bed and put on the dress shirt. He was in the middle of buttoning up when Nancy knocked again before opening the door.

“Nancy!” Mike squawked, launching himself across the room and slamming the door closed. “I’m basically _naked_!”

“You are not!” Nancy snapped. She knocked again and jiggled the doorhandle. “Let me in!”

“No!” Mike leaned against the door and finished buttoning up his shirt. Only when he was safely tucked in did he go over to the bed and retrieve his sweater. Almost immediately, the door swung back open to reveal Nancy.

Mike managed to shoot her a glare before he tugged the sweater on over his head. “Jesus, Nancy,” he griped. “Ever heard of privacy?”

“We’re going to be late,” Nancy replied officiously. “Besides, I have to check what you’re wearing.”

“ _What_?” Mike emerged from his sweater and stared at her in mute fury. He started untwisting his sleeves, which had bunched up around his elbows. Nancy’s expression was implacable. “‘Check what I’m wearing’? Who are you? I’m not a kid. I can dress myself.”

“Yeah… sure.” Nancy made a face and padded into the room. She was wearing a dress with too many ruffles for Mike’s taste; it was also violently pink. Tucking a strand of wavy hair behind her ear, she crossed her arms and regarded him. “So, is that it?”

“Is what it?” Mike looked down at himself: red woollen sweater, white dress shirt, tan slacks. “Yeah. This is what I’m wearing.”

“It’s okay, I guess.”

Mike narrowed his eyes at her. He sat down on the bed and put on his dress shoes. “I repeat, since when are you my mother?”

Nancy raised her eyebrows. “Since this is the last time you’ll see Eleven.”

His hands paused. When he resumed lacing up his shoes, Mike kept his voice neutral. “Why would I care what El thinks about my clothes?”

“No reason.” Nancy’s high heels sank into the carpet as she wandered around the room, her arms tightly crossed around her thin waist, inspecting Mike’s belongings.

Mike straightened up and frowned at her. “Nancy,” he started, “you don’t think I still like El, do you?”

“What?” She made a face and shook her head. “No, not at all. So, ready to go?”

“I’m serious.” Mike got to his feet and went over to his wardrobe, where he retrieved a jacket. “I don’t.”

Nancy rolled her eyes. “And I _know._ Alright, c’mon. We gotta go.”

They traipsed downstairs. Their mom called goodbye to them from the den, where she and Holly were watching TV. Outside, the blistering cold air knocked the wind from their lungs. Together they hobbled to the car and, once inside, immediately turned on the heated air conditioning. As Nancy reversed down the driveway, Mike stared out the window. A peculiar combination stirred his stomach, like he was nervous. Which was totally stupid – he was going to the Byers’ house, something he’d done literally a million times. There was no reason to be nervous. It had nothing to do with Will.

Nancy drove quickly, unlike Jonathan. The radio was turned down low. Soft night wrapped around them. Mike watched the skeletal trees flash past, eerily illuminated by the headlights.

“How are you holding up?” Nancy asked into the silence. He felt her glance across at him. “It’ll be a big day tomorrow.”

“Fine,” Mike replied quietly. He continued to stare out of the window.

Nancy’s voice was pitched low and gentle. “It’s okay if you’re not. I know how much Will means to you.”

You don’t. No one does.

“Yeah. Thanks.”

“Mike?”

He turned away from the window. Nancy’s profile was silhouetted against the woods that flew by.

She was quiet for so long Mike figured she’d lost her train of thought. Just as he looked back to the window, Nancy said, “I know how you must be feeling.”

Mike frowned. “I don’t think you do.”

“I think I do,” Nancy insisted. “Someone I care about is leaving me, too.”

“Yeah, but you’ll see each other again really soon. You’re going to college next year. You’ll be with Jonathan again in less than six months.”

Nancy made an odd sound somewhere between a hum and an objection. “Yeah, I guess. But it doesn’t make the middle part any less difficult.”

Mike looked away from her. “No. Maybe not.”

“I’m here for you. Okay?” Nancy might have been a fast driver, but she wasn’t reckless. Mike knew that she was imagining reaching out a hand for him to hold – if he wanted to. “We’re kind of in this together.”

Unbidden, the afternoon at the park came back to him. _Mike, remember what I said. When it feels right, you’ll know._ The memory filled him with a strange sadness. Maybe Nancy did know what he was feeling. But the fact he couldn’t admit to her the truth filled him with loneliness.

“Yeah.” Mike turned back to her profile and nodded. “Okay. Deal.”

Nancy shot him a smile. “Deal. Now, let’s get in the party spirit.” She turned up the dial of the radio. [A bright electronic sound swelled in the cab:](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4zmDkUKl5EE) ‘ _A thought that never changes remains a stupid lie… it’s never been quite the same…’_

“What’s this?” Mike asked curiously; Nancy shrugged.

“I can ask Jonathan if you like. Remember the lyrics. He’s got an amazing memory. He’ll be able to tell you.”

They sailed through the night. When they arrived at the Byers, the song was fading out into a song Mike recognised as something his mom liked. As they bumped down the driveway, Mike caught sight of the house and gasped, craning forward in his seat.

The whole house was lit up like a Christmas tree. Fairy lights wound around the porch pillars and snaked along the guttering. The windows were ablaze with orange light; silhouettes flickered behind the gauzy curtains. The Byers’ bungalow appeared to glow in the opaque darkness, enough that it looked like a shrine to another world.

Mike and Nancy clambered out of the car and slammed the doors closed. Winding her pashmina around her shoulders, Nancy murmured in awe, “I’ve never seen it look like this before.”

“It’s incredible,” Mike echoed. The Byers’ front doorway opened suddenly, and a shaft of light spilled down the driveway.

Jonathan’s voice sailed towards them. “Hey, c’mon inside! You’ll freeze out here.”

“Coming!” It was impossible to miss the grin in Nancy’s tone. She locked the car and hurried towards the house, Mike trailing in her wake. As they ascended the porch steps, Mike nervously flattened his fringe and adjusted his sweater.

“Hi, Nance.” Jonathan enveloped Nancy in a close hug. They melted together. Mike looked away from the way Jonathan buried his face into Nancy’s neck. Her perfume whispered in the cold night air. When they pulled away, the expression in Jonathan’s eyes reminded Mike of someone else. “C’mon.”

He caught Mike’s furtive gaze over Nancy’s shoulder. Smiling, Jonathan added, “Hey, Mike. Everyone else is here already.”

With his arm around Nancy, Jonathan led her into the house. Mike wiped his palms down the front of his slacks before following suit.

Mike murmured his thanks as Jonathan closed the front door behind them. Warmth engulfed him. The kitchen and living room he knew so well had been transformed. Every lamp the Byers owned appeared to have been relocated so that the large room was illuminated by soft light. Fairy lights were strung everywhere. These weren’t the Christmas lights Mike remembered from the first time Will disappeared: these were bright white, making it seem like fireflies hung suspended all around them. The kitchen table was crammed with plates of food and drinks. Jonathan’s precious sound system had been rigged around the television. A precocious, upbeat song made the walls thrum. Nancy danced as Jonathan led her through to where countless records were carefully stacked by his player.

It was perfect.

Dustin was sitting on an armchair and leaning forward, gesturing wildly as he talked to Steve, who was sharing a look of incredulity with – surprisingly – Robin. As she rolled her eyes, she caught Mike’s gaze from across the room. She smiled and gave him a small wave; Mike waved back. Lucas was leaning against the wall with a can of Coke and engaged in a heated argument with both Max and El. Max kept tossing her hair, which tumbled down her back in a bright copper wave. El had on a dress that couldn’t have been anyone’s except Nancy’s; Mike vaguely remembered it from some childhood party. She wore eyeshadow that sparkled every time she laughed, which was often.

As Mike shucked off his jacket and hung it up, Mrs Byers appeared out of nowhere and came bustling towards him. “Mike! You came.” She pulled him into a tight hug. Mike closed his eyes and breathed in her familiar smell: cigarettes, laundry, lily-of-the-valley. She leaned back and smiled at him. Her hair was pulled into a twist and she wore a black dress that reminded him of how small and bird-like she really was.

“Oh, Mike,” she said fondly. “We’re going to miss you. I remember when you were a baby, you know.”

“An ugly baby, I bet.”

“No! Never.” Mrs Byers swatted his shoulder and shot him a look. “Please.” She turned around and motioned to Jonathan, who from across the room held up a hand in acknowledgement. When she looked back at Mike, he strongly recalled that he’d known Mrs Byers practically all his life.

“Now, I’m going to leave you all,” Mrs Byers said, sounding wry. “And I’m _trusting_ you won’t get into anything too bad.”

Mike watched as she began putting on her familiar tan coat. Frowning, he said, “Wait, you’re not staying?”

Mrs Byers’ eyebrows arched then fell as she shook her head. “Who, me? No. I’m going over to your mom’s. We’re going to drink wine and watch bad TV. No, I thought you boys – well, that all of you – would enjoy some time together on your last night.” She smiled and squeezed his shoulder. “You’ll be okay. Won’t you?”

“Y—yeah, definitely.” A party, without adults? “Sure. No problem. I’ll take care of it.”

When Mrs Byers grinned, her eyes glittered. “I’m sure you will. Alright, I’m off.” As she patted her pockets for her car keys, she noticed something over Mike’s shoulder. Her grin widened. “Another costume change, huh?”

“Mom!” Will drawled.

Mike’s heart thumped, as if he’d been caught out. Beside him, Mrs Byers continued to speak (“—Looked fine before, you know…”) but Mike had stopped listening. He turned around.

The room suddenly felt much smaller.

Will’s soft hair was swept back from his forehead and tucked behind his ears. It exposed his smooth forehead and the way his eyebrows arched in pleasant surprise, just as Mrs Byers’ had done. There was the heartbreaking birthmark beneath one eye. His full lips, curling into a shy smile. He was in a neat but faded sweater and a pair of black trousers. Both were slightly too small, giving him that outsized appearance he’d shed since discovering Jonathan’s cast offs. In this, he looked like the Will Mike had always known.

The way Will smiled was very distracting. “Hey,” Will said, his voice pitched beneath the music, burred at the edges with happiness. “You look… nice.”

“Thanks.” Mike cleared his throat. Feeling daring, he darted another glance at Will’s broad shoulders and long legs. “You, uh. You do too. Look really nice, I mean.” Feeling like his mom, he added: “Smart.”

“See!” Mrs Byers crowed, poking Will playfully in the chest. “I said you looked great. But no one ever listens to _mom_ , so…”

“Mom,” Will repeated, glancing quickly away from Mike. “C’mon, I never said that…”

“No, honey, it’s fine.” Mrs Byers winked. “Now, give your old mother a kiss. I’m going to Mike’s house.”

Will did so, and Mike gave Mrs Byers another hug. She waved again at Jonathan and called, “Be good!” They waited until the door slammed behind her and the car turned over. Only then did Mike permit himself to look at Will. For the first time in a week, they were alone – almost.

“You look really good,” Mike murmured, smiling when Will shyly caught his eye. “I didn’t know this was, like, a party-party. I thought you said it was a ‘get together’.”

“So did I,” Will replied drily. “But mom got this idea in her head, and when that happens it’s best just to… let it happen.”

“Well…” Mike looked around the room again. “I’m glad she did. This place looks amazing. Better than the Snow Ball.”

“Yeah?” Will moved out of the hallway until he stood beside Mike at the precipice of the kitchen, their shoulders just brushing, pretending to watch everyone else. Will’s proximity filled Mike with wordless desire. He couldn’t stop glancing sideways at Will, though there was every chance he might be caught. He couldn’t help it.

“—Helped with the lights and nearly fell off and broke my leg. Seriously, our ladder is like a hundred years old –”

“Hey, Mike!” Lucas waved at him from across the room. “Dude, come here. I need you.”

He heard Max laugh over the music. “Oh, tired of talking out of your ass, Lucas?”

Mike shared a look with Will, who was smiling. Rolling his eyes, Mike found himself smiling back. “Guess I’m wanted,” he joked. He glanced back at Lucas, who was back in conversation with a smug-looking Max as an amused El looked on, then met Will’s gaze again. On impulse, he said, “I kind of just want to hang out with you.”

Colour rose in Will’s cheeks. “Well, you can,” he replied awkwardly. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“No,” Mike agreed, though that wasn’t what he’d meant. He shot Will another smile, then motioned towards Lucas. “Coming?”

Together, they made their way across the room. Will picked up two soda cans for them as they passed the table and handed one to Mike. Cracking the can open, Mike stopped beside El and glanced between Lucas and Max.

“You called?” he drawled.

“Max and I have a bet,” Lucas announced, smirking at his girlfriend. “She says that with Will in Chicago, it’ll be a week before you join a club. I’m abstaining from betting, obviously,” he added, noticing Mike’s expression.

Mike rounded on Max. “Um, what the hell? Will hasn’t even _gone_ yet.”

“I kind of want to know the answer to this,” Will said. When Mike turned on him, Will shrugged and sipped his soda. “What? I do. Basketball star Mike Wheeler,” he teased.

“I am _not_ joining basketball. No offence, Lucas.”

Lucas shrugged. “None taken.”

“C’mon, Mike.” Max raised her eyebrows and looked pointedly between him and Will. “You can’t tell me that with Will gone you’re going to… what? Hang out in the library? Join drama club?” _Drama club._ Mike glared at Lucas, who pretended to take a large gulp of Coke. “I mean, you and Will are practically joined at the hip. What are you going to do when he’s gone? Sorry,” she added to Will, “I’m just curious.”

“It’s fine,” Will said, as Mike snapped, “And what are _you_ going to do?”

Max shared a smile with El, then put her arm around El’s shoulders, and settled Mike with a smug look. “Sweet nothing,” she enunciated. “I don’t care about lame school clubs.”

“Maybe I feel the same,” Mike retorted, and Max promptly made a face. “What? Why’s that hard to believe?”

“Yeah… I give it a week.” She held out a hand to Lucas. With an apologetic glance at Mike, Lucas shook it.

Mike gestured in exasperation. “What would I even join? I suck at sports. Have you seen me run?”

“You’re like a gelatinous cube,” Lucas remarked, and Mike pointed at him: “Thank you.”

“I don’t know,” Max replied lazily. “If I were you, I’d join drama. Apparently, they have crazy parties.”

“What do I care about parties?”

Max gave him a look. “You’re going to care about parties.”

This was stupid. “I’m not going to join drama. They’re a bunch of… Everyone there is so…”

The music lapsed. In the background, Mike noticed Jonathan swapping the records over. Realising everyone was looking at him expectantly, Mike scowled and took another slug of soda. When it was apparent he wasn’t going to continue, Max raised her eyebrows and said, “Wow, deep.”

“Shut up, Max,” Mike snapped. He elbowed Will. “C’mon.”

“Oh, man, don’t go,” Lucas said, as Max raised her hands in surrender. Mike felt El’s eyes on him as he passed by.

He and Will trailed into the den. Nancy was sitting on the low coffee table with one leg crossed over the other. She held a red plastic cup against one knee and was laughing at something Steve had said. As Mike and Will rounded the couch to stand by the TV, Robin grinned at them from where she was curled by the arm of the couch, one knee drawn up to her chest, her other leg slung over Steve’s lap.

“Hey, nerds,” Robin greeted fondly. She frowned at Mike. “What’s with the long face, kiddo?”

“Nothing,” Mike replied before anyone could notice. Then: “What are you guys doing?”

“Steve’s telling us about work,” Nancy replied, turning where she sat to smile fuzzily up at Mike. “Something about… Shit, what was it?”

“Barry,” Steve answered, grinning at Mike and Will. “Our resident pervert. He’s seriously such a creep.”

“Try being a girl on the register when he comes in,” Robin muttered.

Beside him, Will asked, “What’s wrong with him?”

Languid as a cat, Robin shrugged and made a face. “There’s nothing _objectively_ wrong with him. He’s your garden variety creep.”

“Maybe he’s lonely,” Jonathan interjected. He was sitting in an armchair by the record player and reading the back of a sleeve. Glancing up, Jonathan added, “Not everyone who’s weird is a creep.”

“I take your point,” Robin said, “but you haven’t seen the videos this guy checks out.”

Steve laughed. “Yeah! Like, last week – and I swear I’m not making this up – he took out… Oh, God, what was it. Rob, help me out here. Was it… Shit, whatever. But there were ropes involved. That’s all I remember.”

Dustin suddenly appeared and threw himself onto the couch beside Steve, making him and Robin bounce. Grinning broadly at them, Dustin held out an enormous bag of Haribo. “Gummy bear?” Will helped himself to a handful.

“Are you talking about the ‘adult’ section?” Mike asked Steve, who drank from his own red plastic cup and nodded.

“Yeah. Except we’re not allowed to acknowledge its existence. Our boss prefers to think of Hawkins as the place the Sixties forgot.”

As Robin laughed and Jonathan smirked, Nancy said, “What, as in he thinks no one has sex in Hawkins?”

Steve made a finger gun and pointed it at her. Nancy shook her head and shared a look with Jonathan. “Every time I think Hawkins can’t _possibly_ be any more conservative, something else happens to surprise me.”

“Eh, I don’t know.” Robin drained her cup. “Some people just like living in a bubble.”

Steve looked at Jonathan and gestured with his chin. “Guess being in Chicago will make you shed that small-time vibe pretty damn quick, right?”

“Yeah, maybe.” Beneath the sound of a New Order record, Jonathan was difficult to hear. His quiet eyes found Will; he smiled. “We won’t forget where we came from, though.”

Will glanced at Mike but quickly averted his eyes. He shook his head and smiled like quicksilver. “Never.”

The conversation moved on. Mike continued to look at Will’s profile. Distantly, he heard Nancy say to Steve, “Hey, did you bring any more, uh, ‘special’ punch?” Will ducked his head and sipped his soda, then noticed Mike watching him. Incredibly, he blushed.

“I’ve been meaning to ask,” Mike started. Will tilted his head and leaned closer, so Mike didn’t have to talk loudly over the music. His proximity brought a whisper of honey, laundry, soap. Warmth bloomed in Mike’s chest. Will’s pupils expanded.

“Yeah?” Will asked, and Mike said, “You know how I’ll catch the bus to, like, visit you? I was wondering if… Well, if you’d like to, I dunno, maybe write to each other? Not postcards. But letters?” He faltered. “If – if you’ll have time. I mean, you might make new friends – and that would be great! – but, like, just in case you see something that reminds you of me – or not just me, but like, the Party generally…”

“Definitely.” Will’s grin was brilliant. He dropped his gaze, then looked up shyly. “I could… make you a mixtape, if you wanted.”

Mike’s pulse skipped. “Yeah? You sure?”

“Totally.” Something teasing played in Will’s expression. “Tangerine Dream is the tip of the iceberg, you know. There’s The Smiths, Sonic Youth, Depeche Mode, Joy Division…”

“I know some of those!”

Will smirked. “Thanks to me.”

“Okay, mainly thanks to you.” They grinned at each other for a long moment. The warm orange lamplight smudged Will’s features, giving him the appearance of a Polaroid. Will’s grin faded into a soft smile; his eyes burned into Mike’s.

“Hey,” Will said quietly. “I, um... I have something for you.”

He flushed with nerves. “Really?”

“Yeah.” Biting his bottom lip briefly, Will held his gaze for a beat longer before gesturing over his shoulder. “Do you – c’mon.”

As Steve cried, “A drink for my Chicago-bound compadre!” and Jonathan’s objections mingled with Nancy’s good-natured cajoling, Mike and Will skirted out of the den. He didn’t look at the others. He couldn’t look anywhere except the back of Will’s neck. Not for the first time this year, Mike realised that he and Will were as tall as each other. As he passed the kitchen table, Mike put down his soda can.

The hallway swallowed the laughter of the others and the pounding music. _[I know, you know, we believe in a land of love…](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eHAL9khxKwg) _The only source of light were the fairy lights that trailed along the walls. In the semi-darkness Mike could just see Will as he reached his bedroom door; it opened with a slight creak. Mike glanced quickly behind them, then slipped inside behind Will and closed the door.

They were alone. Mike pressed back against the bedroom door with his palms flat against the wood. He could feel the bass from Jonathan’s stereo thrum through his fingertips. Somewhere in the gloom he sensed Will. A shape moved past the window. Then a lamp flicked on. Mike blinked.

Will’s bedroom was almost packed up. Only the furniture and his bedside lamp remained. Everything else – the posters, the books and comics, the notepads and pencils – had disappeared.

“Woah,” Mike murmured. He looked at Will. “You’re really going.”

With anyone else it might have been a stupid thing to say. But Will understood what he meant.

“Yeah...” Will followed Mike’s incredulous gaze and took in the empty space. They’d spent countless afternoons in this room, and now it was a poor facsimile of the place that was burned in Mike’s memory. “It’s weird to think that you can fit your whole life into a few boxes.”

Mike wandered over to a stack of boxes by the window. Someone had written on its side in permanent marker: TOYS – THRIFT. “You’re getting rid of so much stuff.”

“Mom couldn’t get a very big truck. We don’t have a lot of room.”

“Still.” There was another box labelled BOOKS – THRIFT. Mike traced the words and looked at Will over his shoulder. “Which books are you getting rid of?”

The low lamplight cast Will half in shadow. He shrugged and the action was mirrored by his shadow, which stretched unnervingly up the wall behind him. “Mainly kids books. I’m keeping all of my fantasy stuff, though.”

Smiling, Mike turned back to the boxes. “Good.”

He heard Will open a box and pad across the carpet towards him. The back of Mike’s neck prickled. When he turned around, he found himself very close to Will. The darkened room made it difficult to read Will’s expression, but the soft undertone in his voice sent something hot skittering down Mike’s spine. 

“Here,” Will murmured, “this is what I wanted to give you.”

He held it out between them. Mike took it and lifted the book into the half-light. It was his copy of _Magic’s Pawn._

Vanyel. Tylendel. Mike remembered laying on his bed late into the night, eyes burning, his whole body tingling with heat… He remembered as Vanyel’s desire for the handsome herald consumed him, enough that one evening in Valdemar, Tylendel crept into Vanyel’s ghostly bower and pressed their bodies together. Wordless snippets from that passage – and numerous others throughout the book – flashed through Mike’s mind, and he flushed. Swallowing past the lump in his throat, Mike looked up to find Will watching him intently.

“You finished it,” Mike said hoarsely, and Will blinked. “Did you… What did you think?”

A heady beat. Someone in the den burst into laughter.

“It was different,” Will whispered. “Good different.”

Will blinked again, a stuttering motion. His eyes bloomed bright and black.

A thought full of longing came once more to him: _I want to kiss you._ Mike chanced a glimpse of Will’s full, red mouth. It was in the dark that Mike felt safest, felt braver. Could he? On the night before Will left forever, could he finally do it?

“Will…” Mike felt himself frown. Conflict trembled near the surface. “What did you… Why did you like it?”

“Why did you lend it to me?” Will’s question pooled somewhere at the back of Mike’s skull and dripped between his shoulder blades. Something flickered out of sight, like an answer Mike did not yet have the pieces for. “Why did I give you _Watchtower_?”

_I thought you would have liked Errel best._

_How come?_

_I don’t know. He’s so mysterious. Or he thinks that he is. But it’s kind of obvious what he’s thinking._

_What’s he thinking?_

_About Ryke, mainly._

For the first time, Mike tasted a secret knowledge on his tongue. The shadow flickered again, pausing just long enough for a spool of realisation to unwind down Mike’s limbs.

If he was Errel, and Will was Ryke, did Will know how he felt? Was he… Was this his way of saying without saying?

“I don’t know.” Mike’s words were so soft they were little more than a whisper. “Why _did_ you give me _Watchtower_?”

And then Will was closer than before, and the light slipped around his edges like dawn spilling into night. That warm coil burned in Mike’s chest; he felt his pulse thrum in his ears. Will’s mouth, right there. The hand holding the book was shaking. Someone’s hand enveloped his own.

In the darkness, they waited.

It stretched, that moment. Yearning came upon Mike like ripples in water.

 _I want to kiss you._ Think it again. He pressed the back of his hand more closely into Will’s soft, dry palm, and let desire thunder unchecked through his trembling body. _Can you hear me?_ Mike felt himself tilt his head – saw Will mirror him. _I want to kiss you._

Do it. Please. Kiss me.

Mike closed his eyes.

“—In his room, I’ll bet!”

Fear flashed like lightning. His awareness of Will beside him was like a burning brand. Mike whipped around just as the sound of footsteps thumped up the hallway.

The door swept open.

Dustin and Max tumbled into the room. Max immediately launched herself on the bed, making the springs creak, as Dustin turned a plaintive look on them both.

“What’s going on?” he complained. “This is _your_ party, Byers. And as far as I can see, you’re just hiding in your room, like you don’t have legions of friends wanting to spend time with you before you _leave forever…_ ”

“Yeah, Will.” Max grinned wickedly at them. “Come out, already.”

“I –” Will’s face was burning. His side pressed momentarily against Mike’s before he stepped forward, pasting on a smile. “We – I needed to give Mike’s book back.”

Max and Dustin looked at Mike. He held up _Magic’s Pawn_ and grimaced. “Guilty,” he joked.

“Seriously?” Max was off-guard. “A book fair? During a party?”

“You’ll never guess what,” Dustin interrupted, grinning. “Steve brought drinks.”

“We’ve got plenty of drinks,” Will said. To Max, he added: “Do you have to wear shoes on my bed?”

Max promptly rolled off and onto the ground, like a ginger ninja. Dustin widened his eyes meaningfully. “Not just drinks. _Drink_ drinks. He and Robin made this wicked punch. It’s –” He hiccoughed. “Deadly.”

“You’re _drinking_?” Mike stared at him. “You’re drinking alcohol?” When Dustin’s grin broadened, Mike turned to Will. “We have to try some.”

Their eyes met. Excitement made Mike’s pulse quicken. Will was biting back a smile.

“You _are_ going to Chicago,” Mike reminded him.

Making an expression of acknowledgement, Will’s eyes glittered. “I don’t think this is what my mom had in mind when she left us alone.”

“We have responsible adults here,” Dustin refuted. With no shortage of pride, he added: “We have _Steve._ ”

“Your hero worship is seriously out of control.” Max beckoned to Mike and Will and smiled. “You guys have to try some. Just a little bit. A sip!”

Eagerly, Dustin said, “The tiniest sip, ever!”

Mike raised his eyebrows, impressed. He shared a glance with Will. “Well, I don’t think we can argue with such ironclad reasons. Cleric?” Pretending to usher Will forward, Mike grinned at him. “Will you do the honour?”

“I will, my Paladin.” Inclining his head, Will started towards the door. “Forth, companions! To the Prancing Pony!”

As Dustin laughed and Max rolled her eyes, Will followed them from the room.

Mike started after them, then paused. He looked at the book in his hand. Noticing that the lamp was still on, Mike circled the bed and turned it off, plunging the room into darkness. Music drifted down the hallway to him. Someone – Nancy, maybe – made a loud comment.

For a moment, Mike left himself drift back just a few minutes. Will’s face swam before him. They had been so close. It would have been nothing at all to lean forward and kiss him. All summer he’d waited. He had woken from heated dreams about boys that all looked the same – boys with shy smiles and soft brown hair and a birthmark beneath one dark eye. He’d caught himself again and again, pulling himself back when all he wanted was to charge forward, irresistible as the tide, and let Will engulf him. He’d spent all summer knowing it was impossible, because Will wasn’t _like_ him.

Mike slowly looked down at _Magic’s Pawn._

Could he have been wrong all this time? Could he have wasted an entire summer thinking he knew the truth when Will had been trying to show him the truth all along?

Could he really have been so self-involved and stupid?

And now Will was leaving. He was leaving for Chicago in the morning, and Mike had lost his chance.

His hand began to shake again, this time in anger. Mike forced himself to put the book down on the nightstand gently. This wasn’t Will’s fault. As usual, it was all because of him.

Music, laughter. The sound of a bottle opening and someone crying out in joy.

Mike couldn’t do anything now. He was here, in the room he knew as well as his own, mere heartbeats away from the person he liked most in the whole world. The best and only thing he could do was be here for Will. Even if all he wanted was to rewind everything a few minutes and take the plunge.

_A predestination paradox doesn’t mean the end of the story changes; it just means the way the story is told changes._

Gathering himself, Mike straightened his clothes and swept his hands over his overheated face. His curls sprang between his fingers. When someone yelled, “Michael _Whee_ ler, get _in here_!” he took a deep breath. And he left the room.

Mike walked slowly down the hallway. Another record suddenly began to play, and the music swelled in every inch of the Byers’ house.

Mike entered the kitchen and crossed it. Shadows played across the opposite wall to the den, where it appeared everyone had congregated. As Mike padded through the gloom, a man’s [rich, soulful voice](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2BoUzzFXuVU) spilled out towards him. _Do you remember when we met? That’s the day I knew you were my pair…_

Pausing in the doorway, Mike absorbed the scene before him.

Robin and Nancy had managed to squeeze into one armchair and were giggling and talking over one another. Beside them, Jonathan sat on the couch and his laughter – a rare, shy sound – made Mike smile. Steve and Dustin were also on the couch, both angled towards El, evidently trying to persuade her of something. She had a red plastic cup in her hand. She was pretty; it was an objective fact. El looked up and met his gaze. Smiling, she awkwardly toasted him, and he gave her a wave. Max and Will were leaning against the hearth with their backs to the TV. Max was talking animatedly, cup in hand, and Will was nodding along and agreeing with her.

Then, as if he felt Mike’s eyes on him, Will looked at him.

_I want to tell you, oh, just how much I love you._

They watched each other as everyone laughed and talked. The fairy lights winked all around them. Orange light, the swell of warmth against his skin. Will blinked once, then gave him that soft smile Mike knew so well.

And Mike knew, then, that he had only ever loved one person, and he was right in front of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come throw rocks at me on [Tumblr.](https://sevensided.tumblr.com/)


	34. Chapter 34

Saturday dawned bright. The sky beyond Mike’s bedroom windows was startlingly blue, the cold night snap having dissipated in the fresh morning air. From where he lay in bed, he could see the orange leaves waving at the top of the neighbour’s tree. Weak autumn sunlight winked through the boughs.

He closed his eyes and rolled over, taking half his comforter with him. Drawing his knees up to his chest, Mike felt the weight of his body sink into the bed.

He’d given anything to go back to sleep. Anything to avoid what awaited him in a small house on the edge of Hawkins.

The following evening had been tame, despite Steve and Robin’s mystery ‘punch’. Mike couldn’t manage any more than a sip before he switched to soda. Jonathan had ended up driving him and Nancy home. All the way in the dark he’d thought about standing in Will’s bedroom, inches apart but feeling the gulf yawn like an abyss. Once home, he’d fallen into bed and dreamt he was following someone around a house that never seemed to end. Every time he turned a corner, the person slipped away from him. It was only through a series of clues – the flash of a sneaker, an elbow in a familiar well-worn sweater – that he realised he was following Will.

Mike listened as someone creaked past his bedroom and descended the stairs. Nancy was probably still asleep – she’d had a lot of punch. Like so many times that summer, he rolled back over and stared at the ceiling.

Today was the day. After this afternoon, the Byers would be on the road to Chicago, and Mike would be alone again.

That wasn’t true. There would be letters, phone calls, bus trips north. Maybe Will really would send him a mixtape. But none of that would make up for the fact that Will wasn’t going to be in Hawkins anymore.

Tears pricked his eyes. Mike roughly rubbed them, then sat up in bed, his sheets pooling around him.

With enormous effort, he dragged himself to the bathroom and stood in the shower for far too long. When he emerged, damp and hot, he wiped the mirror clear from steam and stared at his beaky, freckled face. Black curls dripped down his neck and along his bare shoulders. If this was what Will saw on a regular basis, Mike was so screwed.

Scrunching up his face, Mike turned away and impatiently dried himself. Once back in his bedroom, he began dressing automatically, pulling on a polo shirt and the same slacks he’d worn last night. There was little he could do about the explosion on top of his head, so he tugged on his sneakers and left his bedroom with still-damp hair, thumping down the stairs to the dining room.

Breakfast was another autopilot affair. Toast, juice. As he frowned slightly and stared into space, he wondered what Will’s new house would be like. What about school? Would he make new friends?

Although Mike knew that, realistically, Will would make new friends, the thought still stuck a dagger through his jealous heart. Would they play D&D? Hang out and talk about comics? Worse – would Will find someone he liked more than Mike? Someone he could tell all his secrets to; someone who wouldn’t be so _stupid_ and would understand what it meant when someone gave you a book like _Watchtower_?

The thought alone made Mike drop his piece of toast onto his plate in disgust. His mom jumped at the sound and looked up from the newspaper. She’d taken to reading it over her women’s digest magazines.

“Mike?” she asked, cigarette burning between red lacquered fingernails. “Are you okay?”

“What?” Mike glanced tiredly at her. “Yeah, I’m fine.” Then, because she was still staring at him, he picked his toast up again. It was dry as cardboard.

After a pause, his mom said, “I spoke to Joyce – Mrs Byers – last night. About the move.” She took a long drag on her cigarette and scrutinized him through the cloud of silver smoke. “I understand how difficult it is for you. For all of you. But she knows what she’s doing. This is the right thing for her and Will and Jonathan.” She caught Mike’s miserable gaze and tried an encouraging smile. “Don’t be sad, honey. Everything works out in the end.”

“Does it?” Mike remarked bitterly. “How can it, when my best friend is moving to the other side of the country?”

“Chicago isn’t that far.”

“It may as well be. It might as well be on freaking _Mars._ ”

“Will is going to visit you.” His mom tapped the ash from her cigarette. “And for what it’s worth, Joyce asked me, and I’m already saying yes. Of course you can visit him. Maybe we could drive up together one weekend. Just you and me.”

Mike shrugged. He picked at the skin on the side of his thumb. After a beat, he said, “What about Nancy?”

“Nancy can come too,” she replied. “We can all go. Make a trip of it. What do you say?”

Listlessly, Mike said, “Yeah. Maybe.”

“Not, ‘yeah, maybe’. Yes, definitely.” When Mike didn’t respond, his mom sighed and balanced her cigarette in the ashtray. Leaning across the table, she stretched out one hand and gently touched Mike’s shoulder. “Mike. I know this is hard now. That pain might not go away for a while. But it _will_ go away. And you’ll see Will again before you know it.”

Mike quickly brushed at his dampening eyes. “You think so?”

“I know so. Now, come on. I promised Joyce the best helping hand I have. Go on, or you’ll be late. And here.” Mike looked up to see her handing over another piece of toast. He took it and met her gaze. Smiling, his mom added, “You’ll need your strength.”

This time, the toast didn’t taste like cardboard. “Thanks, mom.”

Her smile widened. Beside her, Holly sucked on a spoon and stared at him with huge blue eyes. “You’re welcome. Now go! Before I strap you in the car myself.”

When Mike closed the front door behind him and took a deep breath of crisp morning air, the lump in his throat loosened a little. He picked up his bike and, as he had so many times before, hopped on, rolled down the driveway, and turned left.

As he pedalled he watched the trees stretch out over him. Autumnal leaves whispered in the cool, slightly damp breeze.

The ride to the Byers’ house seemed to take a very long time. Mike found himself thinking about various things that had happened that summer. He remembered going to the quarry with the Party. That was the first time Will had lent him _Watchtower._ He remembered going to the movies, and how he and Will had touched hands in the secret dark. He remembered sleeping over, and D&D, and sitting on Will’s bed as they shared comics.

None of that would disappear just because Will was moving. But it hurt all the same, knowing that they might never happen again.

Mike crested the hill that overlooked the long sweep to the Byers’ house. As he began sailing downhill, he watched through the trees as that familiar bungalow slipped into view. There was a large white U-Haul truck parked outside, and a SOLD sign stuck in the spongy grass. From here, Mike saw two figures – Mrs Byers and Jonathan, maybe – carrying a kitchen table across the front lawn. The lump in his throat returned. Mike swallowed hard and kept pedalling.

Too soon, he was turning left and bumping over the uneven driveway. Mrs Byers was climbing down from the truck when she noticed him, and immediately grinned and waved.

“Morning, Mike,” she greeted, squinting in the sunlight. Mike stopped by the porch and hopped off.

“Hey, Mrs Byers.” He propped his bike up and glanced at the open doorway. “Is anyone else here yet?”

“Yeah, actually. They’re all early.” She sounded amazed; Mike didn’t blame her. “Dustin, Lucas, and Max are in the front room, and Nancy and El are in her bedroom.” At Mike’s surprised look, she smirked. “I know. But your sister and her hangover got here before anyone else.”

Jonathan hopped down from the truck and approached them, dusting his hands off on his jeans. “She’s not that hungover,” he replied, smiling, and Mrs Byers waved a hand.

“Yeah, and I was born yesterday.” She wrapped an arm around Mike’s shoulders as they started up the porch steps together. Cigarettes, lily-of-the-valley. She squeezed him and pressed a fleeting kiss to his cheek. “You’re too damn tall,” she complained gently, and he shot her an embarrassed smile. “Between you and Will, I won’t be able to hug my boys again without a stepladder.”

When they entered the foyer, Mike was struck by how empty the house already was. Boxes were everywhere, some taped closed, others bursting with last minute additions. Through the open archway into the kitchen he noticed Max and Lucas stacking chairs as Dustin squashed some oven mitts into a box.

Dustin glanced up and caught Mike’s eye. Grinning, he said, “Hey! Head not hurting, then?”

Drily, Mike said, “Not as much as yours, I bet,” and Dustin made a face. Max laughed.

Mrs Byers dropped her arm from around his shoulders. “As you can see, there’s a lot to do… I don’t know why I leave things until last minute, but there’s no use worrying now.”

Mike shook his head and shot her smile. “Don’t worry. We’ll get through it. What do you – what should I do?”

“God, anything.” Pointing to the chairs Max and Lucas had stacked, she added, “We’ll start with these.”

For the next few hours, the Party helped to pack the U-Haul. First, they moved the furniture, yelling at each other and staggering under the weight of beds, desks, the couch. Max almost broke up with Lucas again when he jammed the corner of a nightstand into her ribs. In the quiet chaos of the morning, Mike must have passed Will a thousand times, and every time, his pulse skipped with nerves. Which was, of course, stupid, considering nothing had even _happened_ between them.

But maybe Mike wasn’t totally hallucinating the slight tension in Will’s quick smiles.

Before too long, the house was almost empty. They’d stopped for a quick break – Nancy had brought snacks and an enormous thermos of coffee – before the final few boxes had to be loaded.

It was strange that sometimes a house could be full of people yet feel empty. Mike found himself alone in the kitchen stacking boxes. In the den, he listened as Max and Lucas broke into a not terrible rendition of the _The NeverEnding Story,_ which, given Dustin’s stony silence, had not met a positive reception.

Weak autumn sunlight pooled on the brown kitchen tiles. Mrs Byers’ scrawling handwriting was everywhere: KITCHEN MISC., ORNAMENTS – FRAGILE, THRIFT – GENERAL. By the truck outside he heard Nancy and Jonathan bicker over the best way to position a pair of armchairs (“Push it to the side – no, Jonathan, the _side_ ” – “Nance, I’m telling you, there’s no room”). Mike picked up a box he recognised from Will’s bedroom. The side read BOOKS – THRIFT. He slowly traced a finger over the letters.

He looked up just to see Will walk into the room carrying another stack of books. Mike’s heart did an odd jolt.

“Hey,” he managed, and Will glanced up and shot him a smile. “More books?”

“More books,” Will confirmed grimly. “I thought I packed everything, but I guess I missed a few.” He put the stack on top of the box in front of Mike.

The _Dungeons and Dragons_ red cover glowed up at him.

Startled, Mike blurted, “Woah, wait, this is the donation box.”

Will paused, having half turned away already. He glanced between the D&D manual and Mike’s confused expression.

“I know.” He knew? “But it’s okay. I’ll just use yours when I come back.”

“But… it’s your manual. Aren’t you going to need it? Like, for references for your drawings?”

Shrugging, Will ducked his gaze. “I can borrow them from the library. I don’t mind.”

Mike frowned. Gently, he said, “Are you sure? I mean… these are kind of sacred. I remember the Christmas you got this.” They watched Mike’s freckled fingers linger over the snarling dragon curled over a pile of gold. Their eyes met.

“Yeah, I’m sure.” The sunlight caught Will in a breathless moment. Was it Mike’s imagination, or was there something hesitant about the way Will watched him, as if he were waiting for something? Pointedly, Will added, “I mean, if we still want to play.”

“Yeah, but…” How could he say this without sounding totally paranoid – or worse, jealous? Mike fidgeted for a moment, still frowning. “I mean… what if you find another Party in Chicago?”

The hesitation in Will’s expression shifted into something Mike hadn’t seen before.

“That’s not possible.”

Holding their gaze, Will’s smile twitched in a way that sent heat dripping down Mike’s spine.

If he didn’t know better, he’d say that Will was – I mean, he couldn’t be _flirting_ …

“Oh!” Mike’s face burned. “Okay.”

Will turned around, then paused. “Mike?”

Feeling flustered, Mike said, “Yeah?”

Will’s dark eyes were steady on his.

Like a half-remembered dream, Mike thought of the night before when they stood too closely in Will’s dimly lit bedroom. How Will’s mouth had been right there. How he’d clasped Mike’s shaking hand in his own.

And then, as if from underwater, ambient sounds reached him: Jonathan and Nancy outside, their friends talking in the other room. Countless boxes in empty rooms. With a painful spike, Mike was reminded that Will was going away from him. The closeness that had been so hard to find was going to disappear with him, until there was nothing but highway that stretched from Hawkins to Chicago.

Hawkins had brought them together. What if it were the only thing that could keep them together?

When he spoke, Will’s voice was firmer than Mike expected. “Don’t forget. I’m making you that mixtape. And you’re _going_ to write me letters.”

Mike choked out a laugh. Tightly, he said, “Yeah. You bet.”

Will’s smile was brilliant. He took a few steps backwards, and with a final glance behind him, left the kitchen. Mike continued to stare at the space Will had occupied.

 _Don’t be a kid._ It wasn’t the end of the world. They’d _faced_ the end of the world. Yet, somehow, that hadn’t felt as painful as this did, right now.

Mike sighed heavily and – before anyone would notice – rubbed his damp eyes again. Pushing back tangled black curls, he tipped his head back and exhaled at the ceiling.

This was not the end of the world.

Having gathered himself, Mike forced himself to continue packing boxes. He carried most of the kitchen boxes out to the truck, where Nancy picked them up and handed them to Jonathan. She made to ruffle Mike’s hair as he passed; he ducked just in time.

The house was as cool inside as it was outside. Walking down the hallway, Mike glanced into the rooms he passed, looking for spare boxes. He heard Will with the others in the den – Dustin and Max were squabbling over the bus timetable to Chicago. Mike paused briefly by Will’s room. He reached El’s bedroom and glanced inside.

El stood in the middle of the room with her right hand outstretched, silhouetted against the orange window blinds. The wardrobe doors were open in front of her. Mike watched as she strained for a long moment, then dropped her hand with a tired gasp. She looked at her palm with a furrowed brow.

On impulse, Mike stepped into the room.

“They’ll come back,” he said, and El jumped and looked at him. Smiling briefly, he walked over to the wardrobe; Will’s old teddy bear was on the highest shelf. Effortlessly, he took it down and handed it to her. El’s eyes darted to his as she crushed the bear to her chest.

“Thanks,” she said quietly.

“They have to. You just need to recharge.” It’d been so long since he and El had spoken normally; Mike almost felt awkward, as he had when they’d first met. He remembered showing her the toys in his room, his dad’s La-Z-Boy, the walkie-talkies… In hindsight, it was so innocent and childish. At the time, they were shy declarations of love.

There were still a few boxes left in El’s bedroom. Mike gestured at one of them and asked, “You packed your walkie, right?”

El’s smile flashed. “Yes.”

“Good. Because I think Max is going to try and steal Cerebro and call you so much you’re gonna want to turn it off.”

They shared a small laugh. El hugged the bear closer to her chest. “Joyce said you might visit us. Is that true?”

Mike grinned. “Definitely. I talked to my mom and everything. She okayed it. I’ll catch the bus or whatever and come and see you all as soon as I can.”

“Maybe Thanksgiving?”

“Yeah. That’s a good idea.” It wasn’t as if his dad was going to be around anyway. “And maybe Christmas, too.” Mike warmed to the idea. He could get a really cool gift for Will and wrap it and everything. “Christmas day together could be super fun. We’d have loads of new presents to play with –” In El’s hair was the scrunchie Max had given her at the start of summer. El was cool now; she skateboarded. What the hell was he doing, talking about presents?

Mike closed his eyes in brief agony. “Sorry,” he added. “I sound like a seven-year-old.”

“I like presents,” El offered awkwardly, and he forced a laugh and said, “Yeah. Cool. I mean, I like presents too.”

Though El smiled, Mike grimaced to himself. His half-baked notion of being friends with El – actual friends, not ‘friends’ with a complicated romantic history – was rapidly dissolving. He supposed this was what happened when you spent a summer avoiding the person you used to kiss as Corey Hart played in the background.

Bizarrely, El continued to smile as she sidled past him. Her hazel eyes lingered on his for a moment before flicking shyly away. Irritated at himself, Mike made a face at the opposite wall. If he was going to spend his life being reminded of how much easier it was to talk to guys than girls, he really needed to get some more practice in.

Then, from the door, El said, “Mike?”

He turned around. Startled, El bit her lip and fidgeted with the bear. Just as Mike was about to open his mouth, she appeared to gather herself.

“Do you remember that day at the cabin?” She paused. “You were talking to Max?”

Mike stared blankly at her. “Uh.” The cabin? Max? “I… don’t think I follow.”

El blinked, hurt. “You – you talked about your feelings. Your heart.”

Something cold and hard settled in Mike’s chest. Unbidden, his own frantic voice came to him: _So can we_ please _just come up with a new plan because I love her and I can’t lose her again!_ Those words had hung heavily in the close cabin air. Will had ducked his head and pretended interest in the toes of his sneakers. For some reason, Mike remembered being more bothered about Will’s apparent indifference than the startled looks of his friends. As Mike stared at El now, that cold, hard feeling began to mutate into something that shivered along his skin.

El’s expression was expectant.

Too loud, Mike blurted, “Oh! Oh, yeah. That.” His eyes landed on El and immediately flitted elsewhere. “Man. Wow. That was so long ago. Um. That was… really heat of the moment stuff. Uh, I think we were arguing and… I mean, I don’t really remember…” Affecting confusion, Mike made a face and scratched the back of his head. “What did I, uh, say? Exactly?”

El suddenly looked very young. Quietly, she said, “Mike.” She began walking towards him.

Panic flared in the pit of his stomach. Mike found his feet rooted to the carpet. As El approached, he realised he was frozen in place. He could only watch with widening eyes as she closed the distance between them. They were toe-to-toe.

Then, as definitively as a character off _Dynasty,_ El reached up and cupped his cheek, her eyes searching his.

“I love you too,” El murmured. She kissed him.

Her lips were cold against his. Mike stared at her shadowy forehead. She gently pulled him forward by her hand on the back of his neck, as if prompting him to reciprocate.

He could. If he kissed El, she’d be his girlfriend again – he knew it. And then Troy wouldn’t make snide allusions about him and Will anymore.

 _Will_.

Mike squeezed his eyes shut. El continued to kiss him for a protracted moment before their lips parted. She gazed up at him, her mouth pink as a strawberry. With a short smile, El dropped her hand and stepped back.

Was he supposed to say something?

Mike swallowed past his dry throat and frowned, stunned. He stared at El as she turned around and walked to the door. She paused with one hand on the door jamb for a heartbeat before disappearing around the corner.

It felt like his brain was rebooting. Eleven had _kissed_ him.

Somewhere out the front of the house, someone yelled, “Is that everything?”

Mike stared at the wallpaper of El’s bedroom and felt hollow.

* * *

When Mike finally made his way outside, it was time to say goodbye.

Jonathan and Nancy were holding onto each other and rocking slowly in place, her face buried in Jonathan’s neck. Max and Lucas were holding hands; Max dashed some tears from her eyes. Dustin had Will in what looked like a chokehold. When they turned around, Will’s pinched, frightened expression hardened the lump in Mike’s throat. As Mike stared at Will, El looked over to him. Her hazel eyes were bright.

“Mike.” El gave him a wobbly smile and approached, her hand outstretched. Mike hesitated before he took it.

“Chicago won’t be so bad,” he heard himself say. “You might even like it.”

When El shook her head, he was reminded that Hawkins was the only place she’d ever called home. The laboratory didn’t count; living in the woods certainly didn’t count. Hawkins was hers as much as anyone’s.

A lump rose in his throat. Mike tried to swallow. “C’mon.” He pulled her into a hug. El nestled into his chest and began to cry. Tears pricked his eyes; he squeezed them closed. “It’ll be okay.”

He looked up in time to see Max throw her arms around them both, copper hair pooling around them. Together they held El. Her shoulders shook with sobs.

Mike let go when El turned and buried herself in Max, whose tear-stained face was blotchy with emotion. Mike realised distantly, as if in a dream, that he was crying too: exhausted, huffing sobs that made his nose stream and head pound. He roughly wiped at his face.

When he emerged, he caught Will’s eye across the group.

Mike had seen Will cry a dozen times, but never like this. He’d cried in pain, in fright, in sadness: when the Mind Flayer had slipped into his skin, and at Hopper’s funeral, and when the nightmares swarmed all around them in the yawning darkness. Mike had held him then. He would now.

Mike started through the Party slowly, but as he neared Will he sped up. When he threw his arms around Will, their chests collided. Closing his eyes, Mike let himself drown in the smell that was so familiar to him: laundry, honey, soap. Will’s arms came up and around Mike’s back, and he felt Will’s hands fist themselves between his shoulder blades, as if he never wanted to let go – if he even could. They were of a height now; Mike pressed his face into the side of Will’s warm neck. _Don’t go,_ he thought desperately. _Please, don’t leave me._

God – it was so unfair! Why hadn’t he kissed Will when he had a chance? Why hadn’t he been brave, for once in his life, and taken the plunge? Why had he been so stupid; how could he be so blind?

“Mike,” Will whispered hoarsely into his shoulder. “I don’t want to go.”

Hot tears spilled down Mike’s face. “I don’t want you to go,” he replied, voice muffled against Will’s neck. “I don’t want things to change.”

He did and he didn’t. He wanted to be more than friends, but he didn’t want to lose Will’s friendship. He wanted them to be kids forever, but he wanted them to grow up, to watch each other change and to be there when one of them fell. Mostly, he wanted Will to forever be at his side.

Mike choked on a sob. “What am I going to do without you?”

Will’s hands twisted in Mike’s shirt. “Write to me,” he pleaded. “Please.”

“I will.” He was drowning. “Of course I will.”

Slowly, they pulled apart. Will wrapped himself around Lucas, then Max, then Dustin. Mike found himself holding El again, stroking her leaf-brown hair and watching through swimming eyes as Will started crying again. Then Jonathan was there, and Nancy, with dark make-up running in soft rivulets down her cheeks.

Will would come back. Mike would go to Chicago. This wasn’t how the story ended.

But as Will detached himself from Max to slip his arms around Mike again, the pain in his chest felt like his heart was breaking.

* * *

Once the U-Haul, Mrs Byers’ green car, and Jonathan’s beat-up old Ford disappeared over the hill, that was it. The Byers had officially left Hawkins.

“Shit.” Dustin blew his nose loudly. “I can’t believe it.”

“This is so weird,” Max murmured to herself, staring at the horizon as if willing the Byers to return. “They’re actually gone.”

Lucas made a darting motion, as if wiping as his eyes, and said, “Fuck. I can’t handle this. I’m going.” Keeping his head bowed, he picked up his bike. Wordlessly, Max hurried over and, without a backwards glance, jumped on the back of Lucas’ bike. Dustin and Mike watched them bump down the driveway, turn right onto the road, and disappear behind the trees.

“Well. That’s it. The end of an era.” Sighing, Dustin put his tissue in his pocket. Mike felt Dustin glance at him. “Hey, dude. You okay?”

“Yeah.” Mike could still feel Will’s arms around him. “I’m fine.”

Dustin nudged him. “Want to come over to mine?” he asked gently. “We could watch a movie. Like in tribute, or something.”

“Will isn’t dead,” Mike replied sharply, and Dustin sighed again.

“No. He’s not. You know what I mean.”

“Yeah.” The thought of going over to Dustin’s and losing himself for a few hours was appealing in the abstract, but the leaden feeling in Mike’s throat told him he needed to be alone. Ducking his head so that thick black curls obscured his vision, Mike busied himself with gathering his bike. “I should go,” he muttered. “My mom needs me.”

After a beat, Dustin picked up his own bike. “Okay. Will you… let me know if you want to hang out?”

Mike flashed him a smile. “Sure.”

They wheeled their bikes down the driveway for the last time. Mike paused by the mailbox and looked back at the house he’d practically grown up in. Last night, the Byers’ had looked magical, all strung up with fairy lights and glowing in the cold autumn night. Now, it looked like any other old bungalow on the outskirts of Hawkins. The front was peeling. There was that side window that Mrs Byers had boarded up for the longest time. And down the hallway to the left, there was a bedroom that had set the scene for many of Mike’s firsts, not least the moment that he realised he was stupidly in love with one Will Byers.

Dustin’s chain jangled as he hopped onto his bike. Shaking his head, Mike hurried to follow suit. Together, they kicked off and began pedalling down the road. At the turnoff to Maple Street, Dustin smiled thinly and gave Mike a wordless wave. Stopping at the end of the Wheelers’ driveway, Mike watched Dustin sail away, burnt leaves spinning in his wake.

He got off his bike. He wheeled it to the front door and left it on the grass.

With each step Mike grew number. He barely registered the front door closing behind him, or the warmth that rushed over his cold skin. The hairs on his arms stood up.

Mike walked to the kitchen doorway and stopped. His mom was by the counter chopping onions. Behind her, something sizzled on the stovetop. There was a glass of wine by her elbow. She looked up, smiling, her red mouth opening in greeting. She froze.

The kitchen swam before him. Tears pricked his eyes.

“Oh, Michael.”

He heard the knife returning to the board. His mom’s sensible shoes on the kitchens tiles. A wash of her perfume as she wound her arms around him and pressed him close.

“Honey… oh, Mike.”

Mike felt himself hug her. He stared over her shoulder.

For the third time that day, he felt empty.

* * *

The letter comprised of notepad paper torn from one of Mike’s exercise books. The pen he used kept blotching, because Will had had a habit of borrowing his pens and chewing the ends, so they stopped working properly. Mike didn’t mind, not anymore.

His desk lamp illuminated him in a pool of warmth. Rain lashed the dark windows. Every so often there was a flash of lightning that silhouetted the trees like it had in the Upside Down.

Pushing some curls out of his face, Mike carefully folded the letter and put it in an envelope he’d stolen from his dad’s office. In block letters he printed: TO WILLIAM BYERS. Once he wrote the rest of Will’s address, he leaned back in his chair and stared at the envelope in his hands.

He wondered when Will would get it. Would he pick it up from the mailbox himself, or would Jonathan bring it in one morning, handing Will the letter over a bowl of cereal and a glass of juice? Would he take it to his room – did he have his own room, or were he and Jonathan sharing, now that El lived there too? Would Will sink onto his bed, those dark eyes drinking in Mike’s untidy handwriting, imagining the ghost of Mike’s hands on the envelope?

Mike rubbed a thumb over the word CHICAGO.

In whatever way Will opened the letter, and wherever he did it, Mike only hoped that Will could hear Mike’s voice in the words he’d poured onto paper. He hoped Will would sense how much Mike’s heart ached for him. How much he wished that everything was back to normal. That at any moment, Mike should be bumping down the driveway to the Byers’ house, ringing the doorbell, padding down the hallway to Will’s bedroom.

That Mike would open the door, and Will would turn around. And that this time, Mike would be brave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you very much for reading my fic. That's the end! (Or is it?) I'm here on [Tumblr.](sevensided.tumblr.com) Please leave comments, kudos, and drop into my inbox. We can scream together.


	35. Epilogue

_16 th October 1985_

_Dear Will,_

_So… that’s it. You’ve moved out of Hawkins. I just got home and the only thing I could think of doing was writing you a letter. I promised I would, and I don’t break promises. Well, I try not to, anyway._

_It must have been weird seeing your house so empty. I kept thinking how big it all looked. It’s hard to believe that your room has been yours for so long, but now it’ll be someone else’s. I’ll keep an eye on your old place and let you know if someone moves in. Like, if they’re our age or just some old couple with a dog. Whatever happens, you can count on me to look after the place. I can ride by after school. You know, just to double check._

_OK, I’m rambling. I’m sorry. ~~The truth is~~_

_I guess what’s hardest is knowing that you had to leave after this summer. I know a lot of bad shit happened, but I think it ended up kind of OK in the end. I’m lying. It was more than OK. There were lots of things that were way better than just OK. It’s just that I don’t know how to say that without sounding stupid. Even though you’re probably driving to Chicago right now, I really want you to know that this summer was the best. Probably the best summer I’ve ever had. And it’s because of you._

_You’re insanely modest, so you’ll probably disagree with what I’m about to write (which is fine, because you have me around to tell you the truth). You’re my best friend, Will. The best friend I’ve ever had. You’re smart – smarter even than Lucas (but not at math, hah hah!). You’re imaginative and the most creative person I’ve ever met. You’re also SO talented and you’re going to be an artist one day. Just see if it doesn’t happen. I bet you your copies of _Camelot 3000 _that in thirty years when we go to our school reunion everyone will know who you are. You’re also really nice. Not nice… kind. You’re a kind person, Will. And I know you worry sometimes that you should be louder or more extroverted. I disagree. ~~I think you’re~~ I wouldn’t change anything about you._

_Shit, this letter is already so long and I have such a bad cramp in my hand._

_Basically, what I’m trying to say is that I’ve always thought these things, but maybe I just didn’t say them properly before. I think there are a lot of things that I haven’t said properly this summer. Maybe you noticed – who am I kidding, you definitely probably noticed. Sorry if you did. And I’m sorry if I was weird this summer. You’re the only person I’ve never felt like a weirdo around before, but I get all mixed up in my head sometimes and just worry about stupid things that don’t matter when I know I shouldn’t, because it’s you._

_Anyway, I’m going to try being better at saying what I mean. It feels easier writing than talking. ~~If we keep writing letters, maybe I’ll~~_

_Screw it. I'm tired of being a baby. Will, the truth is that most of the things I wish I'd said this summer were about you. Good things, I swear. But kind of not just friend things. Crap, I don't know how to say it. ~~Sometime this summer~~ A lot changed this summer. I changed this summer. I think maybe you noticed. If you did, I hope you only noticed good stuff (hah hah). No, seriously, the thing that changed the most was maybe how I feel about you and me. About our friendship. Because I think that I maybe like you more than a friend. And I don't know if you think that's OK (maybe you do?) or if it's just weird that I feel like that. Either way is OK. I care more about you than my stupid feelings. Feelings is also such a bad word, but that's what they are. ~~I guess~~ ~~I just~~ ~~Sometimes I want to~~ ~~I thought about~~ Um so you know at your party? When we were alone in your room, and you asked me about_ Watchtower _? Maybe I was wrong, but for a second I thought that maybe you might have been like me. Maybe I was wrong. That's OK._

_But I guess what I'm wondering - and what I'm only really brave enough to write in a letter - is if maybe... I wasn't wrong?_

_I'm going to go before I embarrass myself. I'm sorry if this is all messed up or if I'm totally wrong about everything. If I am, can you pretend like it's normal and that way we'll never have to talk about it again, ever? OK, I'm going now. Talk soon,_

_Mike_

_P.S. I’m sending this letter to the address your Mom gave my Mom. You have my number, right? I’ll write it on the back just in case. If you want to, you can give me a call this weekend. Or you don't have to - you're probably super busy._

_P.P.S. I really, really miss you, Will._

* * *

**USPS** RETURN TO SENDER ADDRESS INVALID  
POSTMARKED 11/18/85

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wait... where's Will?

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on Tumblr [over here.](https://sevensided.tumblr.com/)


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